GIFT   OF 

MICHAEL  REESE 


i 


THE 

BREADWINNERS 

A    SOCIAL    STUDY 


BY 
JOHN    HAY,  A.M.,LL.D. 


SECRETARY  OF  STATE 
1898-1905 


HARPER  &  BROTHERS  PUBLISHERS 

NEW   YORK    AND     LONDON 


COPYRIGHT.    1883.    BY   THE   CENTURY    COMPANY 

COPYRIGHT.   1883.   BY    HARPER    a    BROTHERS 

COPYRIGHT.    J8M.    BY    CLARA   S.    HAY 


67 


'/ 

MA/XJ 

INTRODUCTION 

IN  the  year  1877  there  occurred  in  several  of  the 
larger  cities  of  the  United  States  strikes  among 
railway  employees  of  a  magnitude  hitherto  un 
known  in  this  country.  These  led  to  riots  and  as 
saults  on  property  of  a  serious  nature.  Cleveland 
was  one  of  the  cities  which  felt  the  force  of  these 
disorders.  There  was  no  army  that  could  be  called 
upon,  and  the  state  militia  was  inefficient.  A  panic 
prevailed  in  the  city  for  days,  many  residents 
sending  their  families  out  of  town  to  places  of  safety. 

My  father,  who  was  living,  in  Cleveland  at  that 
time,  felt  that  "a  profound  misfortune  and  disgrace" 
had  fallen  upon  the  country.  In  a  letter  dated 
July  27,  1877,  he  writes,  "  There  is  a  mob  in  every 
city  ready  to  join  with  the  strikers,  and  get  their 
pay  in  robbery,  ancf  there  is  no  means  of  enforcing 
the  law  in  case  of  a  sudden  attack  on  private  prop 
erty.  We  are  not  Mexicans  yet — but  that  is  about 
the  only  Advantage  we«have  over  Mexico."1 

In  another  letter  he  speaks  of  the  politician  .whose 
"  sympathies  were  all  with  the  laboring  man,  and 
none  with  the  man  whose  enterprise  and  capital 
give  him  a  living."  • 

These  events  and  comments  serve  to  explain  the 

*See  The  Life  and  Letters  of  John  Hay"  by  Wm.  Roscoe 
Thayer.  Vol.  II.  pp.  1-5. 


3378S 


<    V 


INTRODUCTION 

origin  of  the  social  and  political  ideas  which  were 
later  embodied  in  a  story. 

The   Bread-winners,   the   only  novel   my   father 

i  ever  attempted,  was  written  in  -1882.     It  was  first 

1  published  anonymously  in  The  Century  Magazine 

in  1883-1884,  and  aroused  a  good  deal  of  curious 

comment  as  to  its  authorship.     It  was  issued  in 

book  form  by  Harper  &  Brothers  in  1883,-and  went 

through  several  editions. 

Although  the  work  was  generally  attributed  to 
my  father,  he  never  acknowledged  it.  This  edition 
is  the  first  which  bears  on  its  title-page  the  author's 
name. 

Though  the  author  was  writing  for  another  gen 
eration  of  readers,  civilization  has  not  changed  so 
much  in  thirty-odd  years  that  the  conditions  de 
scribed  have  lost  their  contemporary  interest. 

The  broad  lawns  and  gardens  have  disappeared 
from  lower  Algonquin  Avenue,  the  sites  of  the 
Belding  and  Farnham  homes  are  occupied  by 
automobile  salesrooms  or  furniture-houses,  and  the 
Beldings  and  Farnhams  of  to-day  are  living  in  new 
and  finer  houses  at  the  edge  of  the  city. 

The  situations  and  characters,  however,  are  not 
out  of  place  in  this  twentieth-century  world,  and 
for  an  example  of  a  well-executed  riot  we  need  go 
no  further  back  than  the  month  of  January,  1916. 
"We  are  not  Mexicans  yet" — but  the  mobs  at 
Youngstown,  Ohio,  inflamed  with  drink  as  they 
were,  could  hardly  have  achieved  a  more  Mexican 
thoroughness  if  they  had  been  led  by  Francisco 
Villa  in  person. 

The   Bread-winners   is  not  directed   against  or- 


INTRODUCTION 

ganized  labor.  It  is  rather  a  protest  against  the 
disorganization  and  demoralization  of  labor  by  un 
scrupulous  leaders  and  politicians  who,  in  the  guise 
of  helping  the  workingman,  use  his  earnings  to 
enrich  themselves. 

It  is  a  defense  of  the  jtight  of  an  individual  to 
hold  property,  and  a  plea  for  the  better  protection1 
of  that  property  by  law  and  -order.  Civilization' 
rests  upon  law,  order,  and  obedience.  The  agitator 
who  preaches  that  obedience  to  lawful  authority  is 
a  sin,  and  patriotism  an  illusion,  is  more  dangerous 
to  society  than  the  thief  who  breaks  in  at  night 
and  robs  the  householder. 

In  the  face  of  this  fact  there  are  many  Americans 
to-day  who,  acting  in  good  faith,  are  fostering  the 
activities  of  "Ananias  QflELtt"  and  discouraging  the 
spirit  of  "Leopold  Grosshammer." 

CLARENCE  LEONARD  HAY. 


THE  BREAD-WINNERS. 


i. 

A  MORNING  CALL. 

A  FRENCH  clock  on  the  mantel-piece,  framed  of 
brass  and  crystal,  which  betrayed  its  inner  structure 
as  the  transparent  sides  of  some  insects  betray  their 
vital  processes,  struck  ten  with  the  mellow  and 
lingering  clangor  of  a  distant  cathedral  bell.  A 
gentleman,  who  was  seated  in  front  of  the  fire  read 
ing  a  newspaper,  looked  up  at  the  clock  to  see  what 
hour  it  was,  to  save  himself  the  trouble  of  counting 
the  slow,  musical  strokes.  The  eyes  he  raised  were 
light  gray,  with  a  blue  glint  of  steel  in  them, 
shaded  by  lashes  as  black  as  jet.  The  hair  was  also 
as  black  as  hair  can  be,  and  was  parted  near  the 
middle  of  his  forehead.  It  was  inclined  to  curl, 
but  had  not  the  length  required  by  this  inclination. 
The  dark  brown  mustache  was  the  only  ornament 
the  razor  had  spared  on  the  wholesome  face,  the 
outline  of  which  was  clear  and  keen.  The  face 
suited  the  hands — it  had  the  refinement  and  gentle 
ness  of  one  delicately  bred,  and  the  vigorous  lines 
and  color  of  one  equally  at  home  in  field  and  court; 


6  .....    TH.E   BREAD- WIKNERS. 

and  the  hands  had  the  firm,  hard  symmetry  which 
showed  they  had  done  no  work,  and  the  bronze 
tinge  which  is  the  imprint  wherewith  sky  and  air 
mark  their  lovers.  His  clothes  were  of  the  fashion 
seen  in  the  front  windows  of  the  Knickerbocker 
Club  in  the  spring  of  the  year  187-,  and  were  worn 
as  easily  as  a  self-respecting  bird  wears  his  feathers. 
He  seemed,  in  short,  one  of  those  fortunate  natures, 
who,  however  born,  are  always  bred  well,  and  come 
by  prescription  to  most  of  the  good  things  the 
world  can  give. 

He  sat  in  a  room  marked,  like  himself,  with  a 
kind  of  serious  elegance — one  of  those  apartments 
which  seem  to  fit  the  person  like  a  more  perfect 
dress.  All  around  the  walls  ran  dwarf  book-cases 
of  carved  oak,  filled  with  volumes  bound  in  every 
soft  shade  of  brown  and  tawny  leather,  with  only 
enough  of  red  and  green  to  save  the  shelves  from 
monotony.  Above  these  the  wall  space  was  covered 
with  Cordovan  leather,  stamped  with  gold  fleurs-de- 
lis  to  within  a  yard  of  the  top,  where  a  frieze  of 
palm-leaves  led  up  to  a  ceiling  of  blue  and  brown 
and  gold.  The  whole  expression  of  the  room  was 
of  warmth  and  good  manners.  The  furniture  was 
of  oak  and  stamped  leather.  The  low  book-cases 
were  covered  with  bronzes,  casts,  and  figurines,  of 
a  quality  so  uniformly  good  that  none  seemed  to 
feel  the  temptation  either  to  snub  or  to  cringe  to  its 
neighbor.  The  Owari  pots  felt  no  false  shame 
beside  the  royal  Satsuma;  and  Barbedienne's 
bronzes,  the  vases  of  Limoges  and  Lambeth  and 
bowls  from  Nankin  and  Corea  dwelt  together  in 
the  harmony  of  a  varied  perfection. 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  7 

It  was  an  octagon  room,  with  windows  on  each 
side  of  the  fire-place,  in  which  a  fire  of  Ohio  coal 
was  leaping  and  crackling  with  a  cheerful  and  unc 
tuous  noisiness.  Out  of  one  window  you  could  see 
a  pretty  garden  of  five  or  six  acres  behind  the  house, 
and  out  of  the  other  a  carefully  kept  lawn,  extend 
ing  some  hundred  yards  from  the  front  door  to  the 
gates  of  hammered  iron  which  opened  upon  a  wide- 
paved  avenue.  This  street  was  the  glory  of  Buff- 
land,  a  young  and  thriving  city  on  Lake  Erie,  which 
already  counted  a  population  of  over  two  hundred 
thousand  souls.  The  people  of  Clairfield,  a  rival 
town,  denied  that  there  was  anything  like  so  many 
inhabitants,  and  added  that  "  the  less  we  say  about 
1  souls'  the  better."  But  this  was  pure  malice; 
Buffland  was  a  big  city.  Its  air  was  filled  with  the 
smoke  arid  odors  of  vast  and  successful  trade,  and 
its  sky  was  reddened  by  night  with  the  glare  of  its 
furnaces,  rising  like  the  hot  breath  of  some  pros 
trate  Titan,  conquered  and  bowed  down  by  the 
pitiless  cunning  of  men.  Its  people  were,  as  a  rule, 
rich  and  honest,  especially  in  this  avenue  of  which 
I  have  spoken.  If  you  have  ever  met  a  Bufflander, 
you  have  heard  of  Algonquin  Avenue.  He  will 
stand  in  the  Champs  Elysees,  when  all  the  vice  and 
fashion  of  Europe  are  pouring  down  from  the 
Place  of  the  Star  in  the  refluent  tide  that  flows  from 
Boulogne  Wood  to  Paris,  and  calmly  tell  you  that 
"  Algonquin  Avenue  in  the  sleighing  season  can 
discount  this  out  of  sight."  Something  is  to  be 
pardoned  to  the  spirit  of  liberty ;  and  the  avenue  is 
certainly  a  fine  one.  It  is  three  miles  long  and  has 
hardly  a  shabby  house  in  it,  while  for  a  mile  or  two 


8  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

the  houses  upon  one  side,  locally  called  "  the  Ridge," 
are  unusually  fine,  large,  and  costly,  "^bey  are  all 
surrounded  with  well-kept  gardens  a:ir>  separated 
from  the  street  by  velvet  lawns  which  need  scarcely 
fear  comparison  with  the  emerald  wonders  which 
centuries  of  care  have  wrought  from  the  turf  of 
England.  The  house  of  which  we  have  seen  one 
room  was  one  of  the  best  upon  this  green  and  park- 
like  thoroughfare.  The  gentleman  who  was  sitting 
by  the  fire  was  Mr.  Arthur  Farnham.  He  was  the 
owner  and  sole  occupant  of  the  large  stone  house — 
a  widower  of  some  years'  standing,  although  he  was 
yet  young.  His  parents  had  died  in  his  childhood. 
He  had  been  an  officer  in  the  army,  had  served 
several  years  upon  the  frontier,  had  suffered  great 
privations,  had  married  a  wife  much  older  than 
himself,  had  seen  her  die  on  the  Plains  from  sheer 
want,  though  he  had  more  money  than  he  could  get 
transportation  for ;  and  finally,  on  the  death  of  his 
grandfather  he  had  resigned,  with  reluctance,  a  com 
mission  which  had  brought  him  nothing  but  suffer 
ing  and  toil,  and  had  returned  to  Buffland,  where 
he  was  born,  to  take  charge  of  the  great  estate  of 
which  he  was  the  only  heir.  And  even  yet,  in  the 
midst  of  a  luxury  and  a  comfort  which  anticipated 
every  want  and  gratified  every  taste,  he  often  looked 
longingly  back  upon  the  life  he  had  left,  until  his 
nose  inhaled  again  the  scent  of  the  sage-brush  and 
his  eyes  smarted  with  alkali  dust.  He  regretted  the 
desolate  prairies,  the  wide  reaches  of  barrenness  ac 
cursed  of  the  Creator,  the  wild  chaos  of  the  moun 
tain  canons,  the  horror  of  the  Bad  Lands,  the  tin 
gling  cold  of  winter  in  the  Black  Hills.  But  the 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  9 

Republic  holds  so  high  the  privilege  of  serving  her 
that,  for  the  : /ficer  who  once  resigns — with  a  good 
character — tiiere  is  no  return  forever,  though  he 
seek  it  with  half  the  lobby  at  his  heels.  So  Cap 
tain  Farnham  sat,  this  fine  May  morning,  reading  a 
newspaper  which  gave  the  stations  of  his  friends  in 
the  "  Tenth"  with  something  of  the  feeling  which ' 
assails  the  exile  when  he  cons  the  court  journal 
where  his  name  shall  appear  no  more. 

But  while  he  is  looking  at  the  clock  a  servant 
enters. 

"  That  same  young  person  is  here  again." 

"  What  young  person  ?" 

There  was  a  slight  flavor  of  reproach  in  the  tone 
of  the  grave  Englishman  as  he  answered : 

"I  told  you  last  night,  sir,  she  have  been  here 
three  times  already ;  she  doesn't  give  me  her  name 
nor  yet  her  business ;  she  is  settin'  in  the  drawin'- 
room,  and  says  she  will  wait  till  you  are  quite  at 
leisure.  I  was  about  to  tell  her,"  he  added  with  still 
deeper  solemnity,  "  that  you  were  hout,  sir,  but  she 
hinterrupted  of  me  and  said,  '  He  isn't  gone,  there's 
his  'at,'  which  I  told  her  you  'ad  several  'ats,  and 
would  she  wait  in  the  drawin'-room  and  I'd  see." 

Captain  Farnham  smiled. 

"  Very  well,  Budsey,  you've  done  your  best — and 
perhaps  she  won't  eat  me  after  all.  Is  there  a  fire 
in  the  drawing-room  ?" 

«  No,  sir." 

"  Let  her  come  in  here,  then." 

A  moment  afterward  the  rustle  of  a  feminine  step 
made  Farnham  raise  his  head  suddenly  from  his 
paper.  It  was  a  quick,  elastic  step,  accompanied  by 


10  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

that  crisp  rattle  of  drapery  which  the  close  clinging 
garments  of  ladies  produced  at  that  season.  The 
door  opened,  and  as  the  visitor  entered  Farnham 
rose  in  surprise.  He  had  expected  to  see  the  usual 
semi-mendicant,  with  sad-colored  raiment  and  dole 
ful  whine,  calling  for  a  subscription  for  a  new  "  Cen 
tennial  History,"  or  the  confessed  genteel  beggar 
whose  rent  would  be  due  to-morrow.  But  there 
was  nothing  in  any  way  usual  in  the  young  person 
who  stood  before  him.  She  was  a  tall  and  robust 
girl  of  eighteen  or  nineteen,  of  a  singularly  fresh 
and  vigorous  beauty.  The  artists  forbid  us  to  look 
for  physical  perfection  in  real  people,  but  it  would 
have  been  hard  for  the  coolest-headed  studio-rat  to 
find  any  fault  in  the  slender  but  powerful  form  of 
this  young  woman.  Her  color  was  deficient  in 
delicacy,  and  her  dark  hair  was  too  luxuriant  to  be 
amenable  to  the  imperfect  discipline  to  which  it  had 
been  accustomed  ;  but  the  eye  of  Andrea,  sharpened 
by  criticising  Raphael,  could  hardly  have  found  a 
line  to  alter  in  her.  The  dress  of  that  year  was 
scarcely  more  reticent  in  its  revelations  than  the 
first  wet  cloth  with  which  a  sculptor  swathes  his 
kneaded  clay ;  and  pretty  women  walked  in  it  with 
almost  the  same  calm  consciousness  of  power  which 
Phryne  displayed  before  her  judges.  The  girl  who 
now  entered  Farnham's  library  had  thrown  her 
shawl  over  one  arm,  because  the  shawl  was  neither 
especially  ornamental  nor  new,  and  she  could  not 
afford  to  let  it  conceal  her  dress  of  which  she  was 
innocently  proud ;  for  it  represented  not  only  her 
beautiful  figure  with  few  reserves,  but  also  her  skill 
and  taste  and  labor.  She  had  cut  the  pattern  out 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  11 

of  an  illustrated  newspaper,  bad  fashioned  and 
sewed  it  with  her  own  hands ;  she  knew  that  it 
fitted  her  almost  as  well  as  her  own  skin ;  and 
although  the  material  was  cheap  and  rather  flimsy, 
the  style  was  very  nearly  the  same  as  that  worn  the 
same  day  on  the  Boulevard  of  the  Italians.  Her 
costume  was  completed  by  a  pair  of  eyeglasses  with 
steel  rims,  which  looked  odd  on  her  rosy  young 
face. 

"  I  didn't  send  in  my  name,"  she  began  with  a 
hurried  and  nervous  utterance,  which  she  was  evi 
dently  trying  to  make  easy  and  dashing,  "  because 

you  did  not  know  me  from  Adam I  have  been 

trying  to  see  you  for  some  time,"  she  continued. 

"  It  has  been  my  loss  that  you  have  not  succeeded. 
Allow  me  to  give  you  a  chair.5' 

She  flushed  and  seemed  not  at  all  comfortable. 
This  grave  young  man  could  not  be  laughing  at 
her ;  of  course  not ;  she  was  good-looking  and  had 
on  a  new  dress ;  but  she  felt  all  her  customary  as 
surance  leaving  her,  and  was  annoyed.  She  tried  to 
call  up  an  easy  and  gay  demeanor,  but  the  effort 
was  not  entirely  successful.  She  said,  "I  called  this 
morning — it  may  surprise  you  to  receive  a  visit  from 
a  young  lady " 

<c  I  am  too  much  pleased  to  leave  room  for*  sur 
prise." 

She  looked  sharply  at  him  to  see  if  she  were  being 
derided,  but  through  her  glasses  she  perceived  no 
derision  in  his  smile.  He  was  saying  to  himself, 
"  This  is  a  very  beautiful  girl  who  wants  to  beg  or 
to  borrow.  I  wonder  whether  it  is  for  herself  or 
for  some  '  Committee '  ?  The  longer  she  talks  the 


12  THE  BREAD-WINNERS. 

more  I  shall  have  to  give.  But  I  do  not  believe 
she  is  near-sighted." 

She  plucked  up  her  courage  and  said : 

"  My  name  is  Miss  Maud  Matchin." 

Farnham  bowed,  and  rejoined  : 

"  My  name  is " 

She  laughed  outright,  and  said : 

"  I  know  well  enough  what  your  name  is,  or  why 
should  I  have  come  here  ?  Everybody  knows  the 
elegant  Mr.  Farnham." 

The  smile  faded  from  his  face. 

I  "She  is  more  ill-bred  than  I  suspected,"  he 
thought ;  "  we  will  condense  this  interview." 

He  made  no  reply  to  her  compliment,  but  looked 
steadily  at  her,  waiting  to  hear  what  she  wanted,  and 
thinking  it  was  a  pity  she  was  so^  vulgar,  for  she 
looked  like  the  huntress  Diana. 

Her  eyes  fell  under  his  glance,  which  was  not  at 
all  reassuring.  She  said  in  almost  a  humble  tone : 

"  I  have  come  to  ask  a  great  favor  of  you.  I  am 
in  a  good  deal  of  trouble." 

"Let  us  see  what  it  is,  and  what  we  can  do,"  said 
Farnham,  and  there  was  no  longer  any  banter  in  his 
voice. 

She  looked  up  with  sudden  .pleasure,  and  her 
glasses  fell  from  her  eyes.  She  did  not  replace 
them,  but,  clasping  her  hands  tightly  together,  ex 
claimed  : 

"  Oh,  sir,  if  you  can  do  anything  for  me 

But  I  don't  want  to  make  you  think "  She 

paused  in  evident  confusion,  and  Farnham  kindly 
interposed. 

"What  I  may  think  is  not  of  any  consequence 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  13 

just  now.  What  is  it  you  want,  and  how  can  I  be 
of  service  to  you  ?" 

"  Oh,  it  is  a  long  story,  and  I  thought  it  was  so 
easy  to  tell,  and  I  find  it  isn't  easy  a  bit.  I  want 
to  do  something — to  help  my  parents — I  mean  they 
do  not  need  any  help — but  they  can't  help  me.  I 
have  tried  lots  of  things."  She  was  now  stammer 
ing  and  blushing  in  a  way  that  made  her  hate  her 
self  mortally,  and  the  innocent  man  in  front  of  her 
tenfold  more,  but  she  pushed  on  manfully  and 
concluded,  "  I  thought  may  be  you  could  help  me 
get  something  I  would  like." 

"  What  would  you  like  ?" 

"Most  anything.  I  am  a  graduate  of  the  high 
school.  I  write  a  good  hand,  but  I  don't  like 
figures  well  enough  to  clerk.  I  hear  there  are 
plenty  of  good  places  in  Washington." 

"  I  could  do  nothing  for  you  if  there  were.  But 
you  are  wrong :  there  are  no  good  places  in  Wash 
ington,  from  the  White  House  down." 

"  Well,  you  are  president  of  the  Library  Board, 
ain't  you  ?"  asked  the  high-school  graduate.  "  I 
think  I  would  like  to  be  one  of  the  librarians." 

"Why  would  you  like  that?" 

"  Oh,  the  work  is  light,  I  suppose,  and  you  see  peo 
ple,  and  get  plenty  of  time  for  reading,  and  the  pay  is 
better  than  I  could  get  at  anything  else.  The  fact.is," 
she  began  to  gain  confidence  as  she  talked,  "  I  don't 
want  to  go  on  in  the  old  humdrum  way  forever, 
doing  housework  and  sewing,  and  never  getting  a 
chance  at  anything  better.  I  have  enough  to  eat 
and  to  wear  at  home,  but  the  soul  has  some  claims 
too,  and  I  long  for  the  contact  of  higher  natures 


14  THE   BREAD-WIKNERS. 

than  those  by  whom  I  am  now  surrounded.  I  want 
opportunities  for  self-culture,  for  intercourse  with 
kindred  spirits,  for  the  attainment  of  a  higher 
destiny." 

She  delivered  these  swelling  words  with  great 
fluency,  mentally  congratulating  herself  that  she 
had  at  last  got  fairly  started,  and  wishing  she  could 
have  struck  into  that  vein  at  the  beginning.  Farn- 
ham  was  listening  to  her  with  more  of  pain  than 
amusement,  saying  to  himself :  "  The  high  school 
has  evidently  spoiled  her  for  her  family  and  friends, 
and  fitted  her  for  nothing  else." 

"  I  do  not  know  that  there  is  a  vacancy  in  the 
library." 

"  Oh,  yes,  there  is,"  she  rejoined,  briskly ;  "  I 
have  been  to  see  the  librarian  himself,  and  I  flatter 
myself  I  made  a  favorable  impression.  In  fact,  the 
old  gentleman  seemed  really  smitten." 

"  That  is  quite  possible,"  said  Farnham.  "  But  I 
hope  you  will  not  amuse  yourself  by  breaking  his 
heart." 

"I  can't  promise.  He  must  look  out  for  his  own 
heart."  She  had  regained  her  saucy  ease,  and  evi 
dently  enjoyed  the  turn  the  conversation  was  taking. 
"  I  find  my  hands  full  taking  care  of  myself." 

"  You  are  quite  sure  you  can  do  that  ?" 

"Certingly,  sir!"  This  was  said  with  pouting 
lips,  half-shut  eyes,  the  head  thrown  back,  the  chin 
[thrust  forward,  the  whole  face  bright  with  sm^es  of 
'provoking  defiance.  "  Do  you  doubt  it,  Monsieur  ?" 
She  pronounced  this  word  Moshoor. 

Farnham  thought  in  his  heart  "  You  are  about  aa 
fit  to  take  care  of  yourself  as  a  plump  pigeon  at  a 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  15 

shooting  match."  But  he  said  to  her,  "  Perhaps 
you  are  right — only  don't  brag.  It  isn't  lucky.  I 
do  not  know  what  are  the  chances  about  this  place. 
You  would  do  well  to  get  some  of  your  friends  to 
write  a  letter  or  two  in  your  behalf,  and  I  will  see 
what  can  be  done  at  the  next  meeting  of  the 
Board." 

But  her  returning  fluency  had  warmed  up  Miss 
Maud's  courage  somewhat,  and  instead  of  taking  her 
leave  she  began  again,  blushingly,  but  still  boldly 
enough : 

"  There  is  something  I  would  like  much  better 
than  the  library." 

Farnham  looked  at  her  inquiringly.  She  did  not 
hesitate  in  the  least,  but  pushed  on  energetically, 
"  I  have  thought  you  must  need  a  secretary.  I 
should  be  glad  to  serve  you  in  that  capacity." 

The  young  man  stared  with  amazement  at  this 
preposterous  proposal.  For  the  first  time,  he  asked 
himself  if  the  girl's  honest  face  could  be  the  ambush 
of  a  guileful  heart ;  but  he  dismissed  the  doubt  in 
an  instant,  and  said,  simply : 

"No,  thank  you.  I  am  my  own  secretary,  and 
have  no  reason  for  displacing  the  present  incum 
bent.  The  library  will  suit  you  better  in  every 
respect." 

In  her  embarrassment  she  began  to  feel  for  her 
glasses,  which  were  lying  in  her  lap.  Farnham 
picked  up  a  small  photograph  from  the -table  near 
him,  and  said : 

"  Do  you  recognize  this  ?" 

"  Yes,"  she  said.     "It  is  General  Grant." 

"It   is   a   photograph   of  him,   taken   in   Paris, 


16  THE   BEEAD- WINNERS. 

which  I  received  to-day.  May  I  ask  a  favor  of 
you  ?" 

"What  is  it?"  she  said,  shyly. 

"  Stop  wearing  those  glasses.  They  are  of  no  use 
to  you,  and  they  will  injure  your  eyes." 

Her  face  turned  crimson.  Without  a  word  of 
reply  she  seized  the  glasses  and  put  them  on,  her 
eyes  flashing  fire.  She  then  rose  and  threw  her 
shawl  over  her  arm,  and  said,  in  a  tone  to  which  her 
repressed  anger  lent  a  real  dignity : 

"When  can  I  learn  about  that  place  in  the 
library?" 

"Any  time  after  Wednesday,"  Farnham  an 
swered. 

She  bowed  and  walked  out  of  the  room.  She 
could  not  indulge  in  tragic  strides,  for  her  dress 
held  her  like  a  scabbard,  giving  her  scarcely  more 
freedom  of  movement  than  the  high-born  maidens 
of  Carthage  enjoyed,  who  wore  gold  fetters  on 
their  ankles  until  they  were  married.  But  in  spite 
of  all  impediments  her  tall  figure  moved,  with  that 
grace  which  is  the  birthright  of  beauty  in  any  cir 
cumstances,  out  of  the  door,  through  the  wide  hall 
to  the  outer  entrance,  so  rapidly  that  Farnham 
could  hardly  keep  pace  with  her.  As  he  opened 
the  door  she  barely  acknowledged  his  parting  salu 
tation,  and  swept  like  a  huffy  goddess  down  the  steps. 

Farnham  gazed  after  her  a  moment,  admiring  the 
undulating  line  from  the  small  hat  to  the  long  and 
narrow  train  which  dragged  on  the  smooth  stones  of 
the  walk.  He  then  returned  to  the  library.  Bud- 
sey  was~  mending  the  fire. 

"  If  you  please,  sir,"  he  said,  "  Mrs.  Belding's  man 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  17 

came  over  to  ask,  would  you  dine  there  this  evening, 
quite  informal." 

"  Why  didn't  he  come  in  ?" 

"  I  told  him  you  were  engaged." 

"  Ah,  very  well.  Say  to  Mrs.  Belding  that  I  will 
come,  with  pleasure/' 


]8  THE   BREAD-WINDERS. 


n. 

A  HIGH-SCHOOL  GRADUATE. 

Miss  MATCHIN  picked  up  her  train  as  she  reached 
the  gate,  and  walked  down  the  street  in  a  state  of 
mind  by  no  means  tranquil.  If  she  had  put  her 
thoughts  in  words  they  would  have  run  like  this : 

"  That  was  the  meanest  trick  a  gentleman  ever 
played.  How  did  he  dare  know  I  wasn't  near 
sighted  ?  And  what  a  fool  I  was  to  be  caught  by 
that  photograph — saw  it  as  plain  as  day  three  yards 
off.  I  had  most  made  up  my  mind  to  leave  them 
off  anyway,  though  they  are  awful  stylish  ;  they 
pinch  my  nose  and  make  my  head  ache.  But  I'll 
wear  them  now,"  and  here  the  white  teeth  came 
viciously  together,  "  if  they  kill  me.  Why  should 
he  put  me  down  that  way  ?  He  made  me  shy  for 
the  first  time  in  my  life.  It's  a  man's  business  to 
be  shy  before  me.  If  I  could  only  get  hold  of  him 
somehow !  I'd  pay  him  well  for  making  me  feel  so 
small.  The  fact  is,  I  started  wrong.  I  did  not 
really  know  what  I  wanted ;  and  that  graven  image 
of  an  English  butler  set  me  back  so  ;  and  then  I 
never  saw  such  a  house  as  that.  It  is  sinful  for  one 
man  to  live  there  all  alone.  Powers  alive !  How 
well  that  house  would  suit  my  complexion  !  But  I 
don't  believe  I'd  take  it  with  him  thrown  in." 

It  is  doubtful  whether  young  girls  of  Miss  Mat- 
chin's  kind  are  ever  quite  candid  in  their  soliloquies. 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  19 

It  is  certain  she  was  not  when  she  assured  herself 
that  she  did  not  know  why  she  went  to  Farnham's 
house  that  morning.  She  went  primarily  to  make 
his  acquaintance,  with  the  hope  also  that  by  this 
means  she  might  be  put  in  some  easy  and  genteel 
way  of  earning  money.  She  was  one  of  a  very  nu 
merous  class  in  large  American  towns.  Her  father 
was  a  carpenter,  of  a  rare  sort.  He  was  a  good 
workman,  sober,  industrious,  and  unambitious.  He 
was  contented  with  his  daily  work  and  wage,  and 
would  have  thanked  Heaven  if  he  could  have  been 
assured  that  his  children  would  fare  as  well  as  he. 
He  was  of  English  blood,  and  had  never  seemed  to 
imbibe  into  his  veins  the  restless  haste  and  hunger 
to  rise  which  is  the  source  of  much  that  is  good 
and  most  that  is  evil  in  American  life.  In  the 
dreams  of  his  early  married  days  he  created  a  future 
for  his  children,  in  the  image  of  his  own  decent  ex 
istence.  The  boys  should  succeed  -him  in  his  shop, 
and  the  daughters  should  go  out  to  service  in  re 
spectable  families.  This  thought  sweetened  his  toil. 
When  he  got  on  well  enough  to  build  a  shop  for 
himself,  he  burdened  himself  with:  debt,  building  it 
firmly  and  well,  so  as  to  last  out  his  boys'  time  as 
well  as  his  own.  When  he  was  employed  on  the 
joiner-work  of  some  of  those  large  houses  in  Algon 
quin  Avenue,  he  lost  himself  in  reveries  in  which 
he  saw  his  daughters  employed  as  house-maids  in 
them.  He  studied  the  faces  and  the  words  of  the 
proprietors,  when  they  visited  the  new  buildings,  to 
guess  if  they  would  make  kind  and  considerate  em 
ployers.  He  put  many  an  extra'  stroke  of  fine  work 
upon  the  servants'  rooms  he  finished,  thinking; 


20  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

"  Who  knows  but  my  Mattie  may  live  here  some* 
time?" 

But  Saul  Matchin  found,  like  many  others  of  us, 
that  fate  was  not  so  easily  managed.  His  boys 
never  occupied  the  old  shop  on  Dean  Street,  which 
was  built  with  so  many  sacrifices  and  so  much  of 
hopeful  love.  One  of  them  ran  away  from  home 
on  the  first  intimation  that  he  was  expected  to  learn 
his  father's  trade,  shipped  as  a  cabin-boy  on  one  of 
the  lake  steamers,  and  was  drowned  in  a  storm  which 
destroyed  the  vessel.  The  other,  less  defiant  or  less 
energetic,  entered  the  shop  and  attained  some  pro 
ficiency  in  the  work.  But  as  he  grew  toward  man 
hood,  he  became,  as  the  old  man  called  it,  "  trifling"; 
a  word  which  bore  with  it  in  the  local  dialect  no 
suggestion  of  levity  or  vivacity,  for  Luke  Matchin 
was  as  dark  and  lowering  a  lout  as  you  would  read- 
ily  find.  But  it  meant  that  he  became  more  and 
more  un punctual,  did  his  work  worse  month  by 
month,  came  home  later  at  night,  and  was  continu 
ally  seen,  when  not  in  the  shop,  with  a  gang  of  low 
ruffians,  whose  head-quarters  were  in  a  den  called 
the  "  Bird  of  Paradise,"  on  the  lake  shore.  When 
his  father  remonstrated  with  him,  he  met  everything 
with  sullen  silence.  If  Saul  lost  his  temper  at  this 
mute  insolence  and  spoke  sharply,  the  boy  would 
retort  with  an  evil  grin  that  made  the  honest  man's 
heart  ache. 

"  Father,"  he  said  one  day,  "  you'd  a  big  sight 
better  let  me  alone,  if  you  don't  want  to  drive  me 
out  of  this  ranch.  I  wasn't  born  to  make  a  nigger 
of  myself  in  a  free  country,  and  you  can  just  bet 
ypur  life  I  ain't  a-going  to  do  it," 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  21 

These  things  grieved  Saul  Matchin  so  that  his 
anger  would  die  away.  At  last,  one  morning,  after 
a  daring  burglary  had  been  committed  in  Buffland, 
two  policemen  were  seen  by  Luke  Matchin  approach 
ing  the  shop.  He  threw  open  a  back  window, 
jumped  out  and  ran  rapidly  down  to  the  steep  bluff 
overlooking  the  lake.  When  the  officers  entered, 
Saul  was  alone  in  the  place.  They  asked  after  his 
boy,  and  he  said : 

"  He  can't  be  far  away.  What  do  you  want  of 
him  ?  He  hain't  been  doing  nothing,  I  hope." 

"  Nothing,  so  far  as  we  know,  but  we  are  after 
two  fellows  who  go  by  the  names  of  Maumee  Jake 
and  Dutch  George.  Luke  runs  with  them  some 
times,  and  he  could  make  a  pile  of  money  by  help 
ing  of  us  get  them." 

"  I'll  tell  him  when  he  comes  in,"  said  Saul,  but 
he  never  saw  or  heard  of  his  son  again. 

With  his  daughters  he  was  scarcely  more  success 
ful.  For,  though  ^they  had  not  brought  sorrow  or 
shame  to  his  house,  they  seemed  as  little  amenable 
to  the  discipline  he  Ijad  hoped  to  exert  in  his  family 
as  the  boys  were.  The  elder  had  married,  at  fifteen 
years  of  age,  a  journeyman  printer ;  and  so,  instead 
of  filling  the  place  of  housemaicj  in  some  good  fam 
ily,  as  her  father  had  fondly  dreamed,  she  was  cook, 
housemaid,  and  general  servant  to  a  man  aware  of  his 
rights,  and  determined  to  maintain  them,  and  nurse 
and  mother  (giving  the  more  important  function 
precedence)  to  six  riotous ^  children.  Though  his 
child  had  thus  disappointed  his  hopes,  she  had  not 
lost  his  affection,  afld  he  even  enjoyed  the  Sunday 
afternoon  romp  with  his  six  grandchildren,  which 


22  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

ordinarily  took  place  in  the  shop  among  the  shav 
ings.  Wixham,  the  son-in-law,  was  not  prosperous, 
and  the  children  were  not  so  well  dressed  that  the 
sawdust  would  damage  their  clothes. 

The  youngest  of  Matchin's  four  children  was  our 
acquaintance  Miss  Maud,  as  she  called  herself, 
though  she  was  christened  Matilda.  When  Mrs. 
Matchin  was  asked,  after  that  ceremony,  "  Who  she 
was  named  for  ?"  she  said,  "  Nobody  in  partic'lar.  I 
call  her  Matildy  because  it's  a  pretty  name,  and  goes 
well  with  Jurildy,  my  oldest  gal."  She  had  evolved 
that  dreadful  appellation  out  of  her  own  mind.  It 
had  done  no  special  harm,  however,  as  Miss  Jurildy 
had  rechristened  herself  Poguy  at  a  very  tender 
age,  in  a  praiseworthy  attempt  to  say  "  Rogue,"  and 
the  delighted  parents  had  never  called  her  anything 
else.  Thousands  of  comely  damsels  all  over  this 
broad  land  suffer  under  names  as  revolting  pun 
ished  through  life,  by  the  stupidity  of  parenlfc  love, 
for  a  slip  of  the  tongue  in  the  cradle.  Matilda  got 
off  easily  in  the  matter  of  nicknames,  being  called 
Mattie  until  she  was  pretty  well  grown,  and  then 
having  changed  her  name  suddenly  to  Maud,  for 
reasons  to  be  given  hereafter.  ^ 

She  was  a  hearty,  blowzy  little  girl.  Her  father 
delighted  in  her  coarse  vigor  and  Energy.  She  was 
not  a  pretty  child,  and  had  not  a  ^article  of  coquet 
ry  in  her,  apparently ;  she  liked  \o  play  with  the 
boys  when  they  would  allow  her,  and  never  pre 
sumed  upon  her  girlhood  for  any  favors  in  their 
rough  sport ;  and  good-natured  as  she  was,  she  was 
able  to  defend  herself  on  occasion  with  tongue  and 
fists.  She  was  so  full  of  life  and  strength  that,  when 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  23 

she  had  no  playing  to  do,  she  took  pleasure  in  help 
ing  her  mother  about  her  work.  It  warmed  Saul 
Matchin's  heart  to  see  the  stout  little  figure  sweep 
ing  or  scrubbing.  She  went  to  school  but  did  not 
u  learn  enough  to  hurt  her,"  as  her  father  said ;  and 
he  used  to  think  that  here,  at  least,  would  be  one 
child  who  would  be  a  comfort  to  his  age.  In  fancy 
he  saw  her,  in  a  neat  print  dress  and  white  cap, 
wielding  a  broom  in  one  of  those  fine  houses  he  had 
helped  to  build,  or  coming  home  to  keep  house  for 
him  when  her  mother  should  fail. 

But  one  day  her  fate  came  to  her  in  the  shape  of 
a  new  girl,  who  sat  near  her  on  the  school-bench. 
It  was  a  slender,  pasty  young  person,  an  inch  taller 
and  a  year  or  two  older  than  Mattie,  with  yellow 
ringlets,  and  more  pale-blue  ribbons  on  her  white 
dress  than  poor  Mattie  had  ever  seen  before.  She 
was  a  clean,  cold,  pale,  and  selfish  little  vixen,  whose 
dresses  were  never  rumpled,  and  whose  temper  was 
never  ruffled.  She  had  not  blood  enough  in  her 
veins  to  drive  her  to  play  or  to  anger.  But  she 
seemed  to  poor  Mattie  the  loveliest  creature  she  had 
ever  seen,  and  our  brown,  hard-handed,  blowzy  tom 
boy  became  the  pale  fairy's  abject  slave.  Her  first 
act  of  sovereignty  was  to  change  her  vassal's  name. 

"I  don't  like  Mattie  ;  it  ain't  a  bit  romantic.  I 
had  a  friend  in  Bucyrus  whose  name  was  Mattie, 
and  she  found  out  somehow — I  believe  the  teacher 
told  her — that  Queen  Matilda  and  Queen  Maud  was 
the  same  thing  in  England.  So  you're  Maud!" 
and  Maud  she  was  henceforward,  though  her  tyrant 
made  her  spell  it  Maude.  "  It's  more  elegant  with 
an  £,"  she  said. 


24  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

Maud  was  fourteen  and  her  school-days  were  end 
ing  when  she  made  this  new  acquaintance.  She 
formed  for  Azalea  Windom  one  of  those  violent 
idolatries  peculiar  to  her  sex  and  age,  and  in  a  fort 
night  she  seemed  a  different  person.  Azalea  was 
rather  clever  at  her  books,  and  Maud  dug  at  her 
lessons  from  morning  till  night  to  keep  abreast  of 
her.  Her  idol  was  exquisitely  neat  in  her  dress, 
and  Maud  acquired,  as  if  by  magic,  a  scrupulous 
care  of  her  person.  Azalea's  blonde  head  was  full 
of  pernicious  sentimentality,  though  she  was  saved 
from  actual  indiscretions  by  her  cold  and  vaporous 
temperament.  In  dreams  and  fancies,  she  was 
wooed  and  won  a  dozen  times  a  day  by  splendid  cava 
liers  of  every  race  and  degree  ;  and  as  she  was  thor 
oughly  false  and  vain,  she  detailed  these  airy  adven 
tures,  part  of  which  she  had  imagined  and  part  read 
in  weekly  story-papers,  to  her  worshipper,  who  lis 
tened  with  wide  eyeballs,  and  a  heart  which  was 
just  beginning  to  learn  how  to  beat.  She  initiated 
Maud  into  that  strange  world  of  vulgar  and  un 
healthy  sentiment  found  in  the  cheap  weeklies  which 
load  every  news-stand  in  the  country,  and  made  her 
tenfold  more  the  child  of  dreams  than  herself. 

Miss  Windom  remained  but  a  few  months  at  the 
common  school,  and  then  left  it  for  the  high  school. 
She  told  Maud  one  day  of  her  intended  flitting,  and 
was  more  astonished  than  pleased  at  the  passion  of 
grief  into  which  the  announcement  threw  her  friend. 
Maud  clung  to  her  with  sobs  that  would  not  be  stilled, 
and  with  tears  that  reduced  Miss  Azalea's  dress  to 
limp  and  moist  wretchedness,  but  did  not  move  the 
vain  heart  beneath  it.  "  I  wonder  if  she  knows, 'r 


THE   BREAD-WINKERS.  25 

thought  Azalea,  "  how  ugly  she  is  when  she  bawls 
like  that.  Few  brunettes  can  cry  stylishly  anyhow." 
Still,  she  could  not  help  feeling  flattered  by  such 
devotion,  and  she  said,  partly  from  a  habit  of  care 
less  kindness  and  partly  to  rescue  the  rest  of  her 
raiment  from  the  shower  which  had  ruined  her  neck- 
ribbon, — 

"There,  don't  be  heart-broken.  You  will  be  in 
the  high  school  yourself  in  no  time." 

Maud  lifted  up  her  eyes  and  her  heart  at  these 
words. 

"  Yes,  I  will,  darling  !" 

She  had  never  thought  of  the  high  school  before. 
She  had  always  expected  to  leave  school  that  very 
season,  and  to  go  into  service  somewhere.  But 
from  that  moment  she  resolved  that  nothing  should 
keep  her  away  from  those  walls  that  had  suddenly 
become  her  Paradise. 

Her  mother  was  easily  won  over.  She  was  a 
woman  of  weak  will,  more  afraid  of  her  children 
than  of  her  husband,  a  phenomenon  of  frequent  oc 
currence  in  that  latitude.  She  therefore  sided  natu 
rally  with  her  daughter  in  the  contest  which,  when 
Maud  announced  her  intention  of  entering  the  high 
school,  broke  out  in  the  house  and  raged  fiercely 
for  some  weeks.  The  poor  woman  had  to  bear  the 
brunt  of  the  battle  alone,  for  Matchin  soon  grew  shy 
of  disputing  with  his  rebellious  child.  She  was 
growing  rapidly  and  assuming  that  look  of  maturity 
which  comes  so  suddenly  and  so  strangely  to  the 
notice  of  a  parent.  When  he  attacked  her  one 
day  with  the  brusque  exclamation',  "  Well,  Mattie, 
what's  all  this  blame  foolishness  your  ma's  being 


26  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

tellin'  me  ?"  she  answered  him  witli  a  cool  decision 
and  energy  that  startled  and  alarmed  him.  She 
stood  straight  and  terribly  tall,  he  thought.  She 
spoke  with  that  fluent  clearness  of  girls  who  know 
what  they  want,  and  used  words  he  had  never  met 
with  before  out  of  a  newspaper.  He  felt  himself 
no  match  for  her,  and  ended  the  discussion  by  say 
ing  :  "  That's  all  moonshine — you  shan't  go !  D'ye 
hear  me  ?"  but  he  felt  dismally  sure  that  she  would 
go,  in  spite  of  him. 

Even  after  he  had  given  up  the  fight,  he  con 
tinued  to  revenge  himself  upon  his  wife  for  his  de 
feat.  "  "We've  got  to  have  a  set  of  gold  spoons,  I 
guess.  These  will  never  do  for  highfliers  like  us." 
Or,  "Drop  in  at  Swillem's  arid  send  home  a  few 
dozen  champagne ;  I  can't  stummick  such  common 
drink  as  coffee  for  breakfast."  Or,  "  I  must  fix  up 
and  make  some  calls  on  Algonkin  Av'noo.  Sence 
we've  jined  the  Upper  Ten,  we  mustn't  go  back  on 
Society."  But  this  brute  thunder  had  little  effect 
on  Mrs.  Matchin.  She  knew  the  storm  was  over 
when  her  good-natured  lord  tried  to  be  sarcastic. 

It  need  hardly  be  said  that  Maud  Matchin  did  not 
find  the  high  school  all  her  heart  desired.  Her  pale 
goddess  had  not  enough  substantial  character  to  hold 
her  worshipper  long.  Besides,  at  fifteen,  a  young 
girl's  heart  is  as  variable  as  her  mind  or  her  person  ; 
and  a  great  change  was  coming  over  the  carpenter's 
daughter.  She  suddenly  gained  her  full  growth ; 
and  after  the  first  awkwardness  of  her  tall  stature 
passed  away,  she  began  to  delight  in  her  own 
strength  and  beauty.  Her  pride  waked  at  the  same 
time  with  her  vanity,  and  she  applied  herself  closely 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  27 

to  her  books,  so  as  to  make  a  good  appearance  in 
her  classes.  She  became  the  friend  instead  of  the 
vassal  of  Azalea,  and  by  slow  degrees  she  found 
their  positions  reversed.  Within  a  year,  it  seemed 
perfectly  natural  to  Maud  that  Azalea  should  do  her 
errands  and  talk  to  her  about  her  eyes;  and  Miss 
Windom  found  her  little  airs  of  superiority  of  no 
avail  in  face  of  the  girl  who  had  grown  prettier, 
cleverer,  and  taller  than  herself.  It  made  no  differ 
ence  that  Maud  was  still  a  vulgar  and  ignorant  girl 
— for  Azalea  was  not  the  person  to  perceive  or  ap 
preciate  these  defects.  She  saw  her,  with  mute 
wonder,  blooming  out  before  her  very  eyes,  from  a 
stout,  stocky,  frowzy  child,  with  coarse  red  cheeks 
and  knuckles  like  a  bootblack,  into  a  tall,  slender 
girl,  whose  oval  face  was  as  regular  as  a  conic  sec 
tion,  and  whose  movements  were  as  swift,  strong, 
and  graceful,  when  she  forgot  herself,  as  those  of  a 
race-horse.  There  were  still  the  ties  of  habit  and 
romance  between  them.  Azalea,  whose  brother  was 
a  train-boy  on  the  Lake  Shore  road,  had  a  constant 
supply  of  light  literature,  which  the  girls  devoured 
in  the  long  intervals  of  their  studies.  But  even  the 
romance  of  Miss  Match  in  had  undergone  a  change. 
While  Azalea  still  dreamed  of  dark-eyed  princes, 
lords  of  tropical  islands,  and  fierqe  and  tender  war 
riors  who  should  shoot  for  her  the  mountain  eagle 
for  his  plumes,  listen  with  her  to  the  bulbuPs  song 
in  valleys  of  roses,  or  hew  out  a  throne  for  her  in 
some  vague  and  ungeographical  empire,  the  reveries 
of  Miss  Maud  grew  more  and  more  mundane  and 
reasonable.  She  was  too  strong  and  well  to  dream 
much ;  her  only  visions  were  of  a  rich  man  who 


28  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

should  love  her  for  her  fine  eyes.  She  would  meet 
him  in  some  simple  and  casual  way  ;  he  would  fall 
in  love  at  sight,  and  speedily  prosper  in  his  woo 
ing  ;  they  would  be  married, — privately,  for  Maud 
blushed  and  burned  to  think  of  her  home  at  such 
times, — and  then  they  would  go  to  New  York  to 
live.  She  never  wasted  conjecture  on  the  age,  the 
looks,  the  manner  of  being  of  this  possible  hero. 
Her  mind  intoxicated  itself  with  the  thought  of  his 
wealth.  She  went  one  day  to  the  Public  Library 
to  read  the  articles  on  Rothschild  and  Astor  in  the 
encyclopedias.  She  even  tried  to  read  the  editorial 
articles  on  gold  and  silver  in  the  Ohio  papers. 

She  delighted  in  the  New  York  society  journals. 
She  would  pore  for  hours  over  those  wonderful 
columns  which  described  the  weddings  and  the  re 
ceptions  of  rich  tobacconists  and  stock-brokers,  with 
lists  of  names  which  she  read  with  infinite  gusto. 
At  first,  all  the  names  were  the  same  to  her,  all 
equally  worshipful  and  happy  in  being  printed, 
black  on  white,  in  the  reports  of  these  upper- worldly 
banquets.  But  after  a  while  her  sharp  intelligence 
began  to  distinguish  the  grades  of  our  republican 
aristocracy,  and  she  would  skip  the  long  rolls  of  ob 
scure  guests  who  figured  at  the  "  coming-out  parties" 
of  thrifty  shop-keepers  of  fashionable  ambition,  to 
revel  among  the  genuine  swells  whose  fathers  were 
shop-keepers.  The  reports  of  the  battles  of  the 
Polo  Club  filled  her  with  a  sweet  intoxication.  She 
knew  the  names  of  the  combatants  by  heart,  and  had 
her  own  opinion  as  to  the  comparative  eligibility  of 
Billy  Buglass  and  Tim  Blanket,  the  young  men  most 
in  view  at  that  time  in  the  clubs  of  the  metropolis. 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  29 

Her  mind  was  too  much  filled  with  interests  of 
this  kind  to  leave  any  great  room  for  her  studies. 
She  had  pride  enough  to  hold  her  place  in  her 
classes,  and  that  was  all.  She  learned  a  little  music, 
a  little  drawing,  a  little  Latin,  arid  a  little  French— 
the  French  of  "  Stratford-atte-Bowe,"  for  French  of 
Paris  was  not  easy  of  attainment  at  Buffland.  This 
language  had  an  especial  charm  for  her,  as  it  seemed 
a  connecting  link  with  that  elysium  of  fashion  of 
which  her  dreams  were  full.  She  once  went  to  the 
library  and  asked  for  "  a  nice  French  book."  They 
gave  her  "La  Petite  Fadette.v  She  had  read  of 
George  Sand  in  newspapers,  which  had  called  her  a 
"corrupter  of  youth."  She  hurried  home  with  her 
book,  eager  to  test  its  corrupting  qualities,  and 
when,  with  locked  doors  and  infinite  labor,  she  had 
managed  to  read  it,  she  was  greatly  disappointed  at 
finding  in  it  nothing  to  admire  and  nothing  to  shud 
der  at.  "  How  could  such  a  smart  woman  as  that 
waste  her  time  writing  about  a  lot  of  peasants,  poor 
as  crows,  the  whole  lot!"  was  her  final  indignant 
comment. 

By  the  time  she  left  the  school  her  life  had  be 
come  almost  as  solitary  as  that  of  the  bat  in  the 
fable,  alien  both  to  bird  and  beast.  She  made  no 
intimate  acquaintances  there;  her  sordid  and  sel 
fish  dreams  occupied  her  too  completely.  Girls 
who  admired  her  beauty  were  repelled  by  her 
heartlessness,  which  they  felt,  but  could  not  clearly 
define.  Even  Azalea  fell  away  from  her,  having 
found  a  stout  and  bald-headed  railway  conductor, 
whose  adoration  made  amends  for  his  lack  of 
romance,  Maud  knew  she  was  not  liked  in  tha 


30  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

*  school,  and  being,  of  course,  unable  to  attribute  it  to 
|  any  fault  of  her  own,  she  ascribed  it  to  the  fact  that 
j  her  father  was  a  mechanic  and  poor.  This  thought 
did  not  tend  to  make  her  home  happier.  She  passed 
'  much  of  her  time  in  her  own  bedroom,  looking  out 
of  her  window  on  the  lake,  weaving  visions  of 
ignoble  wealth  and  fashion  out  of  the  mists  of  the 
morning  sky  and  the  purple  and  gold  that  made 
the  north-west  glorious  at  sunset.  When  she  sat 
with  her  parents  in  the  evening,  she  rarely  spoke. 
If  she  was  not  gazing  in  the  fire,  with  hard  bright 
eyes  and  lips,  in  which  there  was  only  the  softness 
of  youth,  but  no  tender  tremor  of  girlhood's  dreams, 
she  was  reading  her  papers  or  her  novels  with  rapt 
attention.  Her  mother  was  proud  of  her  beauty 
and  her  supposed  learning,  and  loved,  when  she 
looked  up  from  her  work,  to  let  her  eyes  rest  upon 
her  tall  and  handsome  child,  whose  cheeks  were 
flushed  with  eager  interest  as  she  bent  her  graceful 
head  over  her  book.  But  Saul  Matchin  nourished 
a  vague  anger  and  jealousy  against  her.  He  felt 
that  his  love  was  nothing  to  her ;  that  she  was  too 
pretty  and  too  clever  to  be  at  home  in  his  poor 
house  ;  and  yet  he  dared  not  either  reproach  her  or 
appeal  to  her  affections.  His  heart  would  fill  with 
grief  and  bitterness  as  he  gazed  at  her  devouring 
the  brilliant  pages  of  some  novel  of  what  she  im 
agined  high  life,  unconscious  of  his  glance,  which 
would  travel  from  her  neatly  shod  feet  up  to  her 
hair,  frizzed  and  banged  down  to  her  eyebrows, 
"  making  her,  look,"  he  thought,  "  more  like  a  Scotch 
poodle-dog  than  an  honest  girl."  He  hated  those 
books  which,  he  fancied,  stole  away  her  heart  from 


THE  BREAD-WINNERS.  31 

her  home.  He  had  once  picked  up  one  of  them 
where  she  had  left  it;  but  the  high-flown  style 
seemed  as  senseless  to  him  as  the  words  of  an  incan 
tation,  and  he  had  flung  it  down  more  bewildered 
than  ever.  He  thought  there  must  be  some  strange 
difference  between  their  minds  when  she  could  de 
light  in  what  seemed  so  uncanny  to  him,  and  he 
gazed  at  her,  reading  by  the  lamp-light,  as  over  a 
great  gulf.  Even  her  hands  holding  the  book  made 
him  uneasy ;  for  since  she  had  grown  careful  of 
them,  they  were  like  no  hands  he  had  ever  seen  on 
any  of  his  kith  and  kin.  The  fingers  were  long  and 
white,  and  the  nails  were  shaped  like  an  almond, 
and  though  the  hands  lacked  delicacy  at  the  articu 
lations,  they  almost  made  Matchin  reverence  his 
daughter  as  his  superior,  as  he  looked  at  his  own. 

One  evening,  irritated  by  the  silence  and  his  own 
thoughts,  he  cried  out  with  a  sudden  suspicion : 

"  Where  do  you  git  all  them  books,  and  what  do 
they  cost  ?" 

She  turned  her  fine  eyes  slowly  upon  him  and 
said  : 

"  I  get  them  from  the  public  library,  and  they 
cost  nothing." 

He  felt  deeply  humiliated  that  he  should  have 
made  a  blunder  so  ridiculous  and  so  unnecessary. 

After  she  had  left%the  school — where  she  was 
graduated  as  near  as  possible  to  the  foot  of  the  class 
— she  was  almost  alone  in  the  world.  She  rarely 
visited  her  sister,  for  the  penury  of  the  Wixham 
household  grated  upon  her  nerves,  and  she  was  not 
polite  enough  to  repress  her  disgust  at  the  affection 
ate  demonstrations  of  the  Wixham  babies.  "  There, 


32  THE  BREAD-WINNERS. 

there !  get  along,  you'll  leave  me  not  fit  to  be 
seen  !"  she  would  say,  and  Jurilda  would  answer  in 
that  vicious  whine  of  light-haired  women,  too  early 
overworked  and  overprolific :  "  Yes,  honey,  let  your 
aunt  alone.  She's  too  tiffy  for  poor  folks  like  us"  ; 
and  Maud  would  go  home,  loathing  her  lineage. 

The  girls  she  had  known  in  her  own  quarter  were 
by  this  time  earning  their  own  living :  some  in  the 
manufactories,  in  the  lighter  forms  of  the  iron 
trade,  some  in  shops,  and  a  few  in  domestic  service. 
These  last  were  very  few,  for  the  American  blood 
revolts  against  this  easiest  and  best-paid  of  all  occu 
pations,  and  leaves  it  to  more  sensible  foreigners. 
The  working  bees  were  clearly  no  company  for  this 
poor  would-be  butterfly.  They  barely  spoke  when 
they  met,  kept  asunder  by  a  mutual  embarrassment. 
One  girl  with  whom  she  had  played  as  a  child  had 
early  taken  to  evil  courses.  Her  she  met  one  day 
in  the  street,  and  the  bedraggled  and  painted  creat 
ure  called  her  by  her  name. 

"  How  dare  you?"  said  Maud,  shocked  and  fright 
ened. 

"  All  right !"  said  the  shameless  woman.  "  You 
looked  so  gay,  I  didn't  know." 

Maud,  as  she  walked  away,  hardly  knew  whether 
to  be  pleased  or  not.  "She  saw  I  looked  like  a 
lady,  and  thought  I  could  not  be  one  honestly.  I'll 
show  them !" 

She  knew  as  few  men  as  women.  She  sometimes 
went  to  the  social  gatherings  affected  by  her  father's 
friends,  Odd  Fellows'  and  Druids'  balls  and  the 
festivities  with  which  the  firemen  refreshed  them 
selves  after  their  toils  and  dangers.  But  her  un- 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  3$ 

deniable  beauty  gained  her  no  success.  She  seemedj 
to  take  pains  to  avoid  pleasing  the  young  carpenters 
coachmen,  and  journeyman  printers  she  met  01 
these  occasions.  With  her  head  full  of  fantastic 
dreams,  she  imagined  herself  a  mere  visitor  at  these 
simple  entertainments  of  the  common  people,  and 
criticised  the  participants  to  herself  with  kindly 
sarcasm.  If  she  ever  consented  to  dance,  it  was 
with  the  air  with  which  she  fancied  a  duchess  might 
open  a  ball  of  her  servants.  Once,  in  a  round  game 
at  a  "  surprise"  party,  it  came  her  turn  to  be  kissed 
by  a  young  blacksmith,  who  did  his  duty  in  spite 
of  her  struggles  with  strong  arms  and  a  willing 
heart.  Mr.  Browning  makes  a  certain  queen,  mourn 
ing  over  her  lofty  loneliness,  wish  that  some  com 
mon  soldier  would  throw  down  his  halberd  and 
clasp  her  to  his  heart.  It  is  doubtful  if  she  would 
really  have  liked  it  better  than  Miss  Maud  did,  and 
she  was  furious  as  a  young  lioness.  She  made  her 
self  so  disagreeable  about  it  that  she  ceased  to  be 
invited  to  those  lively  entertainments ;  and  some  of 
the  most  eligible  of  the  young  "  Cariboos" — a  social 
order  of  a  secret  and  mysterious  rite,  which  met 
once  a  week  in  convenient  woodsheds  and  stable- 
lofts — took  an  oath  with  hands  solemnly  clasped  in 
the  intricate  grip  of  the  order,  that  "  they  would 
never  ask  Miss  Matchin  to  go  to  party,  picnic,  or 
sleigh-ride,  at  long  as  the  stars  gemmed  the  blue 
vault  of  heaven,"  from  which  it  may  be  seen  that 
the  finer  sentiments  of  humanity  were  not  unknown 
to  the  Cariboos. 

Maud  came  thus  to  be  eighteen,  and  though  she 
so  beautiful  and  so  shapely  that  no  stranger 
3 


34  THE   BKEAD-WIKNBRS. 

ever  saw  her  without  an  instant  of  glad  admiration, 
she  had  had  no  suitor  but  one,  arid  from  him  she 
never  allowed  a  word  of  devotion.  Samuel  Sleeny, 
a  carpenter  who  worked  with  her  father,  and  who 
took  his  meals  with  the  family,  had  fallen  in  love 
with  her  at  first  sight,  and,  after  a  year  of  dumb 
hopelessness,  had  been  so  encouraged  by  her  father's 
evident  regard  that  he  had  opened  his  heart  to  Said 
and  had  asked  his  mediation.  Matchin  undertook 
the  task  with  pleasure.  He  could  have  closed  his 
eyes  in  peace  if  he  had  seen  his  daughter  married  to 
so  decent  a  man  and  so  good  a  joiner  as  Sleeny. 
But  the  interview  was  short  and  painful  to  Matchin. 
He  left  his  daughter  in  possession  of  the  field,  and 
went  to  walk  by  the  lake  shore  to  recover  his  self- 
possession,  which  had  given  way  beneath  her  firm 
will  and  smiling  scorn.  When  he  returned  to  the 
shop  Sleeny  was  there,  sitting  on  a  bench  and  chew 
ing  pine  shavings. 

"What  did  she  say?"  asked  the  young  fellow. 
"But  never  mind — I  see  plain  enough  it's  no  use. 
She's  too  good  for  me,  and  she  knows  it." 

"Too  good!"  roared  Saul.  "She's  the  goldern> 
dest " 

"Hold  on  there,"  said  Sleeny.  "Don't  say  noth- 
in'  you'll  have  to  take  back.  Ef  you  say  anything 
ag'in  her,  you'll  have  to  swaller  it,  or  whip  me." 

Saul  looked  at  him  with  amazement. 

"  Well !  you  beat  me,  the  pair  of  you !  You're 
crazy  to  want  her,  and  she's  crazy  not  to  want  you. 
She  liked  to  a'  bit  my  head  off  for  perposin'  you, 
and  you  want  to  lick  me  for  calling  her  a  fool." 

"  She  ain't  no  fool,"  said  Sleeny  with  sullen  res- 


THE   BKE  AD-WINNERS.  35 

ignatlon;  "she  knows  what  she's  about,"  and  he 
picked  up  another  shaving  and  ruminated  upon  it. 

The  old  man  walked  to  and  fro,  fidgeting  with 
his  tools.  At  last  he  came  back  to  the  young  man 
and  said,  awkwardly  dusting  the  bench  with  his 
hand : 

"Sam,  you  wasn't  'lowin'  to  leave  along  o'  this 
here  foolishness  ? " 

"  That's  just  what  I  was  'lowin'  to  do,  sir." 

"  Don't  you  be  a  dern  fool,  Sam !"  and  Saul  fol 
lowed  up  this  judicious  exhortation  with  such  co 
gent  reasons  that  poor  Sleeny  was  glad  to  be  per 
suaded  that  his  chance  was  not  over  yet,  and  that  he 
would  much  better  stay  where  he  was. 

"How'll^likeit?" 

"  Oh !  it  won't  make  a  mite  o'  difference  to  her," 
said  the  old  man  airily,  and  poor  Sam  felt  in  his 
despondent  heart  that  it  would  not. 

He  remained  and  became  like  the  least  of  her  ser 
vants.  She  valued  his  attachment  much  as  a  planter 
valued  the  affection  of  his  slaves,  knowing  they 
would  work  the  better  for  it.  He  did  all  her  er 
rands  ;  fetched  and  carried  for  her ;  took  her  to 
church  on  evenings  when  she  did  not  care  to  stay  at 
home.  One  of  the  few  amusements  Saul  Matchin 
indulged  in  was  that  of  attending  spiritualist  lec 
tures  and  seances,  whenever  a  noted  medium  visited 
the  place.  Saul  had  been  an  unbeliever  in  his 
youth,  and  this  grotesque  superstition  had  rushed  in 
at  the  first  opportunity  to  fill  the  vacuum  of  faith 
in  his  mind.  He  had  never  succeeded,  however,  in 
thoroughly  indoctrinating  his  daughter.  '  She  re 
garded  her  father's  religion  with  the  same  contempt 


36  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

she  bestowed  upon  the  other  vulgar  and  narrow  cir 
cumstances  of  her  lot  in  life,  and  so  had  preferred 
her  mother's  sober  Presbyterianism  to  the  new  and 
raw  creed  of  her  sire.  But  one  evening,  when  she 
was  goaded  by  more  than  usual  restlessness,  Sleeny 
asked  her  if  she  would  go  with  him  to  a  "  sperritual 
lectur."  To  escape  from  her  own  society,  she  ac 
cepted,  and  the  wild,  incoherent,  and  amazingly 
fluent  address  she  heard  excited  her  interest  and  ad 
miration.  After  that,  she  often  asked  him  to  take 
her,  and  in  the  long  walk  to  and  from  the  Harmony 
Hall,  where  the  long-haired  brotherhood  held  their 
sessions,  a  sort  of  confidential  relation  grew  up  be 
tween  them,%  which  meant  nothing  to  Maud,  but 
bound  the  heart  of  Sleeny  in  chains  of  iron.  Yet 
he  never  dared  say  a  word  of  the  feeling  that  was 
consuming  him.  He  feared  he  should  lose  her  for 
ever,  if  he  opened  his  lips. 

Of  course,  she  was  not  at  ease  in  this  life  of 
dreamy  idleness.  It  did  not  need  the  taunts  of  her 
father  to  convince  her  that  she  ought  to  be  doing 
something  for 'herself.  Her  millionaire  would 
never  come  down  to  the  little  house  on  Dean  Street 
to  find  her,  and  she  had  conscience  enough  to  feel 
that  she  ought. to  earn  her  own  clothes.  She  tried 
to  make  use  of  the  accomplishments  she  had  learned 
at  school,  but  was  astonished  to  find  how  useless 
they  were.  She  made  several  attempts  to  be  a 
teacher,  but  it  was  soon  found  that  her  high-school 
diploma  covered  a  world  of  ignorance,  and  no  board, 
however  indulgent,  would  accept  her  services.  She 
got  a  box  of  colors,  and  spoiled  many  fans  and  dis 
figured  many  pots  by  decorations  which  made  the 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  37 

eyes  of  the  beholder  ache ;  nobody  would  buy  them, 
and  poor  Maud  had  no  acquaintances  to  whom  she 
might  give  them  away.  So  they  encumbered  the 
mantels  and  tables  of  her  home,  adding  a  new  tedium 
to  the  unhappy  household.  She  answered  the  ad 
vertisements  of  several  publishing  companies,  and 
obtained  agencies  for  the  sale  of  subscription  books. 
But  her  face  was  not  hard  enough  for  this  work. 
She  was  not  fluent  enough  to  persuade  the  unde 
cided,  and  she  was  too  proud  to  sue  in  forma 
pauperis ;  she  had  not  the  precious  gift  of  tears, 
by  which  the  travelling  she-merchant  sells  so  many 
worthless  wares.  The  few  commissions  she  gained 
hardly  paid  for  the  wear  and  tear  of  her  high-heeled 
boots. 

One  day  at  the  public  library  she  was  returning 
a  novel  she  had  read,  when  a  gentleman  came  out 
of  an  inner  room  and  paused  to  speak  to  the  libra 
rian's  assistant,  with  whom  Maud  was  at  the  moment 
occupied — a  girl  whom  she  had  known  at  school, 
and  with  whom  she  had  renewed  acquaintance  in  this 
way.  It  was  about  a  matter  of  the  administration  of 
the  library,  and  only -a  few  words  were  exchanged. 
He  then  bowed  to  both  the  ladies,  and  went  out. 

"Who  was  that?"  Maud  asked. 

"  Don't  you  know  ?"  rejoined  the  other.  "  I 
thought  everybody  knew  the  elegant  Captain  Farn- 
ham.  £[e  is  president  of  our  board,  you  know,  and 
he  is  just  lovely.  I  always  manage  to  stop  him  as 
he  leaves  a  board  meeting  and  get  a  word  or  two  out 
of  him.  It's  worth  the  trouble  if  I  only  get  a  bow." 

"I  should  think  so,"  assented  Maud.  "He  is  as 
sweet  as  a  peach.  Is  there  any  chance  of  getting 


38  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

one  of  those  places  ?  I  should  like  to  divide  those 
bows  with  you." 

"That  would  be  perfectly  splendid,"  said  her 
friend,  who  was  a  good-natured  girl.  "Come,  I 
will  introduce  you  to  the  old  Doctor  now." 

And  in  a  moment  Maud  was  in  the  presence  of 
the  librarian. 

She  entered  at  a  fortunate  moment.  Dr.  Buch- 
lieber  was  a  near-sighted  old  gentleman  who  read 
without  glasses,  but  could  see  nothing  six  feet  away. 
He  usually  received  and  dismissed  his  visitors  with 
out  bothering  himself  to  discover  or  imagine  what 
manner  of  people  they  were.  UI  do  not  care 
how  they  look,"  he  would  say.  "  They  probably 
look  as  they  talk,  without  form  and  void."  But  at 
the  moment  when*  Maud  entered  his  little  room,  lie 
had  put  on  his  lenses  to  look  out  of  the  window, 
and  he  turned  to  see  a  perfect  form  in  a  closely  fit- 
ting  dress,  and  a  face  pretty  enough  to  look  on  with 
a  critical  pleasure.  He  received  her  kindly,  and  en 
couraged  her  to  hope  for  an  appointment,  and  it 
was  in  accordance  with  his  suggestion  that  she  called 
upon  Farnham,  as  we  have  related. 

She  did  not  go  immediately.  She  took  several 
days  to  prepare  what  she  called  "  a  harness"  of  suf 
ficient  splendor,  and  while  she  was  at  work  upon  it 
she  thought  of  many  things.  She  was  not  even  yet 
quite  sure  that  she  wanted  a  place  in  the  library. 
The  Doctor  had  been  very  kind,  but  he  had  given 
her  clearly  to  understand  that  the  work  required  of 
her  would  be  severe,  and  the  pay  very  light.  She 
had  for  a  long  time  thought  of  trying  to  obtain  a 
clerkship  at  Washington, — perhaps  Farnham  would 


THE  BREAD-WINNERS.  39 

help  her  to  that, — and  her  mind  wandered  off  among 
the  possibilities  of  chance  acquaintance  with  bach 
elor  senators  and  diplomats.  But  the  more  she 
thought  of  the  coming  interview,  the  more  her 
mind  dwelt  upon  the  man  himself  whom  she  was 
going  to  see — his  bow  and  his  smile,  his  teeth  and 
his  mustache,  and  the  perfect  fit  of  his  clothes.  One 
point  in  regard  to  him  was  still  vague  in  her  mind, 
and  as  to  that  her  doubts  were  soon  resolved.  One 
evening  she  said  to  her  father : 

"  Did  you  ever  see  Captain  Farnham  ?" 

"  Now,  what  a  foolish  question  that  is  !  I'd  like 
to  know  who  built  his  greenhouses,  ef  I  didn't  ?" 

"  He  is  pretty  well  off,  ain't  he  ?" 

Saul  laughed  with  that  satisfied  arrogance  of 
ignorant  men  when  they  are  asked  a  question  they 
can  answer  easily. 

"  I  rather  guess  he  is ;  that  is,  ef  you  call  three, 
four,  five  millions  well  off.  I  don't  know  how  it 
strikes  you"  (with  a  withering  sarcasm),  "  but  /call 
Arthur  Farnham  pretty  well  fixed." 

These  words  ran  in  Maud's  brain  with  a  ravishing 
sound.  She  }>uilt  upon  them  a  fantastic  palace  of 
mist  and  cloud.  When  at  last  her  dress  was  finished 
and  she  started,  after  three  unsuccessful  attempts, 
to  walk  to  Algonquin  Avenue,  she  was  in  no  condi 
tion  to  do  herself  simple  justice.  She  hardly  knew 
whether  she  wanted  a  place  in  the  library,  a  clerk 
ship  at  Washington,  or  the  post  of  amanuensis  to  the 
young  millionaire.  She  was  confused  by  his  recep 
tion  of  her ;  his  good-natured  irony  made  her  feel  ill 
at  ease ;  she  was  nervous  and  flurried  ;  and  she  felt,  as 
she  walked  away,  that  the  battle  had  gone  against  her. 


40  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 


III. 

THE  WIDOW  AND  HER  DAUGHTER. 

MRS.  BELDING'S  house  was  next  to  that  of  Mr. 
Farnham,  and  the  neighborly  custom  of  Algonquin 
Avenue  was  to  build  no  middle  walls  of  partition  be 
tween  adjoining  lawns.  A  minute's  walk,  therefore, 
brought  the  young  man  to  the  door  of  Mrs.  Beld- 
ing's  cottage.  She  called  it  a  cottage,  and  so  we 
have  no  excuse  for  calling  it  anything  else,  though 
it  was  a  big  three-storied  house,  built  of  the  soft 
creamy  stone  of  the  Buffland  quarries,  and  it  owed 
its  modest  name  to  an  impression  in  the  lady's  mind 
that  gothic  gables  and  dormer  windows  were  a  neces 
sary  adjunct  of  cottages.  She  was  a  happy  woman, 
though  she  would  have  been  greatly  surprised  to 
hear  herself  so  described.  She  had  not  been  out  of 
mourning  since  she  was  a  young  girl.  Her  parents, 
as  she  sometimes  said,  "  had  put  her  into  black"  ; 
and  several  children  had  died  in  infancy,  one  after 
the  other,  until  at  last  her  husband,  Jairus  Belding, 
the  famous  bridge-builder,  had  perished  of  a  mala 
rial  fever  caught  in  the  swamps  of  the  "Wabash,  and 
left  her  with  one  daughter  and  a  large  tin  box  full 
of  good  securities.  She  never  afterward  altered  the 
style  of  her  dress,  and  she  took  much  comfort  in 
feeling  free  from  all  further  allegiance  to  milliners. 
In  fact,  she  had  a  nature  which  was  predisposed  to 
comfort.  She  had  been  fond  of  her  husband,  but 


THE   BREAD-WIKNERS.  41 

she  had  been  a  little  afraid  of  him,  and,  when  she 
had  wept  her  grief  into  tranquillity,  she  felt  a  certain 
satisfaction  in  finding  herself  the  absolute  mistress 
of  her  income  and  her  bedroom.  Her  wealth  made 
her  the  object  of  matrimonial  ambition  once  or 
twice,  and  she  had  sufficient  beauty  to  flatter  herself 
that  she  was  loved  more  for  her  eyes  than  her  money ; 
but  she  refused  her  suitors  with  an  indolent  good 
nature  that  did  not  trouble  itself  with  inquiries  as  to 
their  sincerity.  "  I  have  been  married  once,  thank 
you,  and  that  is  enough"  ;  this  she  said  simply 
without  sighing  or  tears.  Perhaps  the  unlucky 
aspirant  might  infer  that  her  heart  was  buried  in 
the  grave  of  Jairus.  But  the  sober  fact  was  that 
she  liked  her  breakfast  at  her  own  hours.  Attached 
to  the  spacious  sleeping-room  occupied  in  joint  ten 
ancy  by  herself  and  the  bridge-builder  were  two 
capacious  closets.  After  the  funeral  of  Mr.  Beld- 
ing,  she  took  possession  of  both  of  them,  hanging 
her  winter  wardrobe  in  one  and  her  summer  raiment 
in  the  other,  and  she  had  never  met  a  man  so  fasci 
nating  as  to  tempt  her  to  give  up  to  him  one  of 
these  rooms. 

She  was  by  no  means  a  fool.  Like  many  easy-going 
women,  she  had  an  enlightened  selfishness  which 
prompted  her  to  take  excellent  care  of  her  affairs. 
As  long  as  old  Mr.  Farnham  lived,  she  took  his  ad 
vice  implicitly  in  regard  to  her  investments,  and 
after  his  death  she  transferred  the  same*  unquestion 
ing  confidence  to  his  grandson  and  heir,  although  he 
was  much  younger  than  herself  and  comparatively 
inexperienced  in  money  matters.  It  seemed  to  her 
only  natural  that  sqme  of  the  Farnham  wisdom 


42  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

should  have  descended  with  the  Farnham  millions. 
There  was  a  grain  of  good  sense  in  this  reasoning, 
founded  as  it  was  upon  her  knowledge  of  Arthur's 
good  qualities ;  for  upon  a  man  who  is  neither  a  sot 
nor  a  gambler  the  possession  of  great  wealth  almost 

,  always  exercises  a  sobering  and  educating  influence. 

'•  So,  whenever  Mrs.  Belding  was  in  doubt  in  any 
matter  of  money,  she  asked  Arthur  to  dine  with 
her,  and  settle  the  vexing  questions  somewhere  be 
tween  the  soup  and  the  coffee.  It  was  a  neighborly 
service,  freely  asked  and  willingly  rendered. 

As  Farnham  entered  the  widow's  cosey  library,  he 
saw  a  lady  sitting  by  the  fire  whom  he  took  to  be 
Mrs.  Belding;  but  as  she  rose  and  made  a  step 
toward  him,  he  discovered  that  she  was  not  in  mourn 
ing.  The  quick  twilight  was  thickening  into  night, 
and  the  rich  glow  of  the  flaming  coal  in  the  grate, 
deepening  the  shadows  in  the  room,  while  it  pre 
vented  him  from  distinguishing  the  features  of  her 
face,  showed  him  a  large  full  form  with  a  grace  of 
movement  which  had  something  even  of  majesty 
in  it. 

"  I  see  you  have  forgotten  me,"  said  a  voice  as 
rich  and  full  as  the  form  from  which  it  came.  "  I 
am  Alice  Belding." 

"  Of  course  you  are,  and  you  have  grown  as  big 
and  beautiful  as  you  threatened  to,"  said  Farnham, 
taking  both  the  young  girl's  hands  in  his,  and  turn 
ing  until  she  faced  the  fire-li^ht.  It  was  certainly 
a  bonny  face  which  the  red  light  shone  upon,  and 
quite  uncommon  in  its  beauty.  The  outline  was 
very  pure  and  noble  ;  the  eyes  were  dark-brown 
and  the  hair  was  of  tawny  gold,  but  the  complexion 


THE   BREAD-WIKKERS. 

was  of  that  clear  and  healthy  pallor  so  rarely  met 
with  among  blonde  women.  The  finest  thing  about 
her  face  was  its  expression  of  perfect  serenity. 
Even  now,  as  she  stood  looking  at  Farnham,  with 
her  hands  in  his,  her  cheek  flushed  a  little  with  the 
evident  pleasure  of  the  meeting,  she  received  his 
gaze  of  unchecked  admiration  with  a  smile  as  quiet 
and  unabashed  as  that  of  a  mother  greeting  a 
child. 

"  Well,  well !"  said  Farnham,  as  they  seated  them 
selves,  "  how  long  has  it  taken  you  to  grow  to  that 
stature  ?  When  did  I  see  you  last  ?" 

"  Two  years  ago,"  she  answered,  in  that  rich  and 
gentle  tone  which  was  a  delight  to  the  ear.  "  I  was 
at  home  last  summer,  but  you  were  away — in  Ger 
many,  I  think." 

"  Yes,  and  we  looked  for  you  in  vain  at  Christ- 
mases  and  Thanksgivings." 

"  Mamma  came  so  often  to  New  York  that  there 
seemed  no  real  necessity  of  my  coming  home  until 
I  came  for  good.  I  had  so  much  to  learn,  you  know. 
I  was  quite  old  and  very  ignorant  when  I  started 
away." 

"  And  you  have  come  back  quite  young  and  very 
learned,  I  dare  say." 

She  laughed  a  little,  and  her  clear  and  quiet  laugh 
was  as  pleasant  as  her  speech. 

Mrs.  Belding  came  in  with,  gliding  footsteps  and 
cap-strings  gently  fluttering. 

"  Why,  you  are  all  in  the  dark  !  Arthur,  will  you 
please  light  that  burner  nearest  you  ?" 

In  the  bright  light  Miss  Alice  looked  prettier 
than  ever ;  the  jet  of  gas  above  her  tinged  her  crisp 


44  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

hair  with  a  lustre  of  twisted  gold  wire  and  threw 
tangled  shadows  upon  her  low  smooth  forehead. 

"We  have  to  thank  Madame  de  Veaudrey  for 
sending  us  back  a  fine  young  woman,"  said  Farn- 
ham. 

"Yes,  she  is  improved,"  the  widow  assented 
calmly.  "  I  must  show  you  the  letter  Madame  de 
Yeaudrey  wrote  me.  Alice  is  first  in  languages, 
first " 

"  In  peace,  and  first  in  the  hearts  of  her  country 
women,"  interrupted  Miss  Alice,  not  smartly,  but 
with  smiling  firmness.  "  Let  Mr.  Farnham  take 
the  rest  of  my  qualities  for  granted,  please." 

"  There  will  be  time  enough  for  you  two  to  get 
acquainted.  But  this  evening  I  wanted  to  talk  to 
you  about  something  more  important.  The  '  Tri 
bune'  money  article  says  the  Dan  and  Beersheba 
Railroad  is  not  really  earning  its  dividends.  What 
am  I  to  do  about  that,  I  should  like  to  know  ?" 

"  Draw  your  dividends,  with  a  mind  conscious 
of  rectitude,  though  the  directors  rage  and  the  '  Tri 
bune'  imagine  a  vain  thing,"  Farnham  answered, 
and  the  talk  was  of  stocks  and  bonds  for  an  hour 
afterward. 

When  dinner  was  over,  the  three  were  seated 
again  in  the  library.  The  financial  conversation 
had  run  its  course,*  and  had  perished  amid  the  arid 
sands  of  reference  to  the  hard  times  and  the  gloomy 
prospects  of  real  estate.  Miss  Alice,  who  took  no 
part  in  the  discussion,  was  reading  the  evening 
paper,  and  Farnham  was  gratifying  his  eyes  by  gaz 
ing  at  the  perfect  outline  of  her  face,  the  rippled 
hair  over  the  straight  brows,  and  the  stout  braids 


THE  BREAD-WINNERS.  45 

that  hung  close  to  the  graceful  neck  in  the  fashion 
affected  by  school-girls  at  that  time. 

A  servant  entered  and  handed  a  card  to  Alice. 
She  looked  at  it  and  passed  it  to  her  mother. 

"It  is  Mr.  Furrey,"  said  the  widow.  "He  has 
called  upon  you" 

"  I  suppose  he  may  come  in  here  ?"  Alice  said, 
without  rising. 

Her  mother  looked  at  her  with  a  mute  inquiry, 
but  answered  in  an  instant,  "  Certainly.' ' 

"When  Mr.  Furrey  entered,  he  walked  past  Mrs. 
Belding  to  greet  her  daughter,  with  profuse  expres 
sions  of  delight  at  her  return,  "  of  which  he  had 
just  heard  this  afternoon  at  the  bank ;  and  although 
he  was  going  to  a  party  this  evening,  he  could  not 
help  stopping  in  to  welcome  her  home."  Miss 
Alice  said  "  Thank  you,"  and  Mr.  Furrey  turned  to 
shake  hands  with  her  mother. 

"  You  know  my  friend  Mr.  Farnham  ?" 

"  Yes,  ma'am — that  is,  I  see  him  often  at  the 
bank,  but  I  am  glad  to  owe  the  pleasure  of  his  ac 
quaintance  to  you." 

The  men  shook  hands.  Mr.  Furrey  bowed  a 
little  more  deeply  than  was  absolutely  required. 
He  then  seated  himself  near  Miss  Alice  and  began 
talking  volubly  to  her  about  New  York.  He  was  a 
young  man  of  medium  size,  dressed  with  that  exag 
geration  of  the  prevailing  mode  which  seems  neces 
sary  to  provincial  youth.  His  short  fair  hair  was 
drenched  with  pomatum  and  plastered  close  to  his 
head.  His  white  cravat  was  tied  with  mathemati 
cal  precision,  and  his  shirt-collar  was  like  a  wall  of 
white  enamel  from  his  shoulders  to  his  ears.  He 


46  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

wore  white  kid  gloves,  which  he  secured  from  spot  or 
blemish  as  much  as  possible  by  keeping  the  tips  of 
the  fingers  pressed  against  each  other.  His  speech 
was  quicker  than  is  customary  with  Western  peo 
ple,  but  he  had  their  flat  monotone  and  their  un 
compromising  treatment  of  the  letter  R. 

Mrs.  Belding  crossed  over  to  where  Farnham  was 
seated  and  began  a  conversation  with  him  in  an  un 
dertone. 

"  You  think  her  really  improved  ?" 

"  In  every  way.  She  has  the  beauty  and  stature 
of  a  Brunhild ;  she  carries  herself  like  a  duchess,  I 
was  going  to  say — but  the  only  duchess  I  ever  knew 
was  at  Schwalbach,  and  she  was  earned  in  a  wicker 
hand-cart.  But  mademoiselle  is  lovely,  and  she 
speaks  very  pretty  English  ;  and  knows  how  to  wear 
her  hair,  and  will  be  a  great  comfort  to  you,  if  you 
can  keep  the  boys  at  bay  for  awhile." 

"  No  danger  there,  I  imagine ;  she  will  keep  them 
at  bay  herself*.  Did  you  notice  just  now?  Mr. 
Furrey  called  especially  to  see  her.  He  was  quite 
attentive  to  her  last  summer.  Instead  of  going  to 
the  drawing-room  to  see  him,  she  wants  him  to  come 
in  here,  where  he  is  in  our  way  and  we  are  in  his. 
That  is  one  of  Madame  de  Yeaudrey's  notions." 

"  I  should  fancy  it  was,"  said  Farnham,  dryly ;  "  I 
have  heard  heV  spoken  of  as  a  lady  of  excellent  prin 
ciples  and  manners." 

"  Now  you  are  going  to  side  against  me,  are  you  ? 
I  do  not  believe  in  importing  these  European  ideas 
of  surveillance  into  free  America.  I  have  confidence 
in  American  girls." 

"  But  see  inhere  your  theories  lead  you.     In  Al- 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  47 

gonquin  Avenue,  the  young  ladies  are  to  occupy  the 
drawing-room,  while  the  parents  make  themselves 
comfortable  in  the  library.  But  the  houses  in  Dean 
Street  are  not  so  spacious.  Most  citizens  in  that 
quarter  have  only  two  rooms  below  stairs.  I  under 
stand  the  etiquette  prevailing  there  is  for  parents, 
when  their  daughters  receive  calls,  to  spend  the 
evening  in  the  kitchen." 

"  Oh,  dear !  I  see  I'm  to  get  no  help  from  you. 
That's  just  the  way  Alice  talks.  When  she  came 
home  to-day,  there  were  several  invitations  for  her, 
and  some  notes  from  young  gentlemen  offering  their 
escort.  She  told  me  in  that  quiet  way  of  hers,  that 
reminds  me  of  Mr.  Belding  when  he  was  dangerous, 
that  she  would  be  nappy  to  go  with  me  when  I  cared 
to  go,  and  happy  to  stay  at  home  if  I  stayed.  So  I 
imagine  I  am  booked  for  a  gay  season." 

"  Which  I  am  sure  you  will  greatly  enjoy.  But 
this  Madame  de  Yeaudrey  must  be  a  very  sensible 
woman." 

"  Because  I  disagree  with  her  ?  I  am  greatly 
obliged.  But  she  is  a  saint,  although  you  admire 
her,"  pursued  the  good-tempered  woman.  "  She  was 
a  Hamilton,  you  know,  and  married  Yeaudrey,  who 
was  secretary  of  legation  in  Washington.  He  was 
afterward  minister  in  Sweden,  and  died  there.  She 
was  returning  to  this  country  with  her  three  girls, 
and  was  shipwrecked  and  they  all  three  perished. 
She  was  picked  up  unconscious  and  recovered  only 
after  a  long  illness.  Since  then  she  has  gone  very 
little  into  the  world,  but  has  devoted  herself  to  the 
education  of  young  ladies.  She  never  has  more  than 
three  or  four  at  a  time,  and  these  she  selects  herself. 


48  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

Alice  had  heard  of  her  from  Mrs.  Bowman,  and  we 
ventured  to  write  to  ask  admission  to  her  household, 
and  our  request  was  civilly  but  peremptorily  de 
clined.  This  was  while  we  were  in  New  York  two 
years  ago.  But  a  few  days  afterward  we  were  at 
church  with  Mrs.  Bowman,  and  Madame  de  Yeau- 
drey  saw  us.  She  called  the  next  day  upon  Mrs. 
Bowman  and  inquired  who  we  were,  and  then  came 
to  me  and  begged  to  withdraw  her  letter,  and  to 
take  Alice  at  once  under  her  charge.  It  seems  that 
Alice  resembled  one  of  her  daughters — at  all  events, 
she  was  completely  fascinated  by  her,  and  Alice 
soon  came  to  regard  her  in  return  as  the  loveliest  of 
created  beings.  I  must  admit  I  found  her  a  little 
stiff — though  she  was  lovely  and,  of  course,  being  a 
Hamilton,  a  perfect  lady.  But  still,  I  cannot  help 
being  afraid  that  she  has  made  Alice  a  little  too  par 
ticular  ;  you  know,  the  young  gentlemen  don't  like  a 
girl  to  be  too  stiff." 

Farnham  felt  his  heart  grow  hot  with  something 
like  scorn  for  the  worthy  woman,  as  she  prattled  on 
in  this  way.  He  could  hardly  trust  himself  to  re 
ply  and  soon  took  his  leave.  Alice  rose  and  gave 
him  her  hand  with  frank  and  winning  cordiality. 
As  he  felt  the  warm  soft  pressure  of  her  strong 
fingers,  and  the  honest  glance  of  her  wide  young 
eyes,  his  irritation  died  away  for  a  moment,  but  soon 
came  back  with  double  force. 

"  Gracious  heavens !"  he  exclaimed,  as  he  closed 
the  door  behind  him,  and  stepped  into  the  clear 
spring  starlight,  hardly  broken  as  yet  by  the  bud 
ding  branches  of  the  elms  and  limes.  "  "What  a 
crazy  woman  that  mother  is  !  Her  daughter  has 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  49 

come  home  to  her  a  splendid  white  swan,  and  she  is 
waddling  and  quacking  about  with  anxiety  and  fear 
lest  the  little  male  ducklings  that  frequent  the  pond 
should  find  her  too  white  and  too  stately." 

Instead  of  walking  home  he  turned  up  the  long 
avenue,  and  went  rapidly  on,  spurred  by  his  angry 
thoughts. 

"  What  will  become  of  that  beautiful  girl  ?  She 
cannot  hold  out  forever  against  the  universal  cus 
tom.  She  will  be  led  by  her  friends  and  pushed 
by  her  mother,  until  she  drops  to  the  level  of  the 
rest  and  becomes  a  romping  flirt ;  she  will  go  to  par 
ties  with  young  Furrey,  and  to  church  with  young 
Snevel.  I  shall  see  her  tramping  the  streets  with 
one,  and  waltzing  all  night  with  another,  and  sitting 
on  the  stairs  with  a  third.  She  is  too  pretty  to  be 
let  alone,  and  her  mother  is  against  her.  She  is 
young  and  the  force  of  nature  is  strong,  and  women 
are  born  for  sacrifice — she.  will  marry  one  of  these 
young  shrimps,  and  do  her  duty  in  the  sphere 
whereto  she  has  been  called."  s 

At  this  thought  so  sharp  a  pang  of  disgust  shot 
through  him,  that  he  started  with  surprise. 

"Oh,  no,  this  is  not  jealousy;  it  is  a  protest 
against  what  is  probable  in  the  name  of  the  eternal 
fitness  of  things." 

Nevertheless,  he  went  on  thinking  very  disagreea 
bly  about  Mr.  Furrey. 

"  How  can  a  nice  girl  endure  a  fellow  who  poma 
tums  his  hair  in  that  fashion,  and  sounds  his  R's  in 
that  way,  and  talks  about  Theedore  Thommus  and 
Cinsunnatta?  Still,  they  do  it,  and  Providence 
must  be  on  the  side  of  that  sort  of  men.  But  what 
4 


50  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

business  is  all  this  of  mine  ?  I  have  half  a  mind  to 
go  to  Europe  again." 

He  stopped,  lighted  a  cigar,  and  walked  briskly 
homeward.  As  he  passed  by  the  Belding  cottage, 
he  saw  that  the  lower  story  was  in  darkness,  and  in 
the  windows  above  the  light  was  glowing  behind 
the  shades. 

"  So  Furrey  is  gone,  and  the  tired  young  traveller 
is  going  early  to  rest." 

He  went  into  his  library  and  sat  down  by  the 
dying  embers  of  the  grate.  His  mind  had  been  full 
of  Alice  and  her  prospects  during  his  long  walk  in 
the  moonlight ;  and  now  as  he  sat  there,  the  image 
of  Maud  Matchin  suddenly  obtruded  itself  upon 
him,  and  he  began  to  compare  and  contrast  the  two 
girls,  both  so  beautiful  and  so  utterly  unlike ;  and 
then  his  thoughts  shifted  all  at  once  back  to  his  own 
early  life.  He  thought  of  his  childhood,  of  his 
parents  removed  from  him  so  early  that  their  mem 
ory  was  scarcely  more  than  a  dream  ;  he  wondered 
what  life  would  have  been  to  him  if  they  had  been 
spared.  Then  his  school-days  came  up  before  him  ; 
his  journey  to  France  with  his  grandfather ;  his 
studies  at  St.  Cyr;  his  return  to  America  during 
the  great  war,  his  enlistment  as  a  private  in  the 
regular  cavalry,  his  promotion  to  a  lieutenancy 
three  days  afterward,  his  service  through  the  terri 
ble  campaign  of  the  Peninsula,  his  wounds  at 
Gettysburg,  and  at  last  the  grand  review  of  the  vet 
erans  in  front  of  the  White  House  when  the  war 
was  over. 

But  this  swift  and  brilliant  panorama  did  not 
long  delay  his  musing  fancy.  A  dull  smart  like 


THE   BREAD-WINKERS.  51 

that  of  a  healing  wound  drew  his  mind  to  a  succes 
sion  of  scenes  on  the  frontier.  He  dwelt  with  that 
strange  fascination  which  belongs  to  the  memory  of 
hardships — and  which  we  are  all  too  apt  to  mistake 
for  regret — upon  his  life  of  toil  and  danger  in  the 
wide  desolation  of  the  "West.  There  he  met,  one 
horrible  winter,  the  sister-in-law  of  a  brother  cap 
tain,  a  tall,  languid,  ill-nourished  girl  of  mature 
years,  with  tender  blue  eyes  and  a  taste  for  Byron. 
She  had  no  home  and  no  relatives  in  the  world  ex 
cept  her  sister,  Mrs.  Keefe,  whom  she  had  followed 
into  the  wilderness.  She  was  a  heavy  burden  on 
the  scanty  resources  of  poor  Keefe,  but  he  made 
her  cordially  welcome  like  the  hearty  soldier  that 
he  was.  She  was  the  only  unmarried  white  woman 
within  a  hundred  miles,  and  the  mercury  ranged 
from  zero  to  —20°  all  winter.  In  the  spring,  she 
and  Farnham  were  married ;  he  seemed  to  have  lost 
the  sense  of  there  being  any  other  women  in  the 
world,  and  he  took  her,  as  one  instinctively  takes  to 
dinner  the  last  lady  remaining  in  a  .drawing-room, 
without  special  orders.  He  had  had  the  consolation 
of  reflecting  that  he  made  her  perfectly  proud  and 
happy  every  day  of  her  life  that  was  left.  Be 
fore  the  autumn  ended,  she  died,  on  a  forced  march 
one  day,  when  the  air  was  glittering  with  alkali, 
and  the  fierce  sun  seemed  to  wither  the  dismal  plain 
like  the  vengeance  of  heaven.  Though  Farnham 
was  even  then  one  of  the  richest  men  in  the  army, 
so  rigid  are  the  rules  imposed  upon  our  service,  by 
the  economy  of  an  ignorant  demagogy,  that  no 
transportation  could  be  had  to  supply  this  sick  lady 
with  the  ordinary  conveniences  of  life,  and  she  died 


52  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

in  his  arms,  on  the  hot  prairie,  in  the  shade  of  an 
overloaded  baggage  wagon.  He  mourned  her  with 
the  passing  grief  one  gives  to  a  comrade  fallen  on 
the  field  of  honor.  Often  since  he  left  the  army, 
he  reproached  himself  for  not  having  grieved  for 
her  more  deeply.  "  Poor  Nellie,"  he  would  some 
times  say,  "  how  she  would  have  enjoyed  this  house, 
if  she  had  lived  to  possess  it."  But  he  never  had 
that  feeling  of  widowhood  known  to  those  whose 
lives  have  been  torn  in  two. 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  53 


IY. 

PROTECTOR  AND  PROT^G^E. 

A  FEW  days  later,  Mr.  Farnharn  attended  a  meet 
ing  of  the  library  board,  and  presented  the  name  of 
Miss  Matchin  as  a  candidate  for  a  subordinate  place 
in  the  library.  There  were  several  such  positions, 
requiring  no  special  education  or  training,  the  duties 
of  which  could  be  as  well  filled  by  Miss  Maud  as  by 
any  one  else.  She  had  sent  several  strong  letters  of 
recommendation  to  the  board,  from  prominent  citi 
zens  who  knew  and  respected  her  father,  for  when' 
Maud  informed  him  of  her  new  ambition,  Matchin 
entered  heartily  into  the  affair,  and  bestirred  him 
self  to  use  what  credit  he  had  in  the  ward  to  assist 
her. 

Maud  had  not  exaggerated  the  effect  of  her  blan 
dishments  upon  Dr.  Buchlieber.  The  old  gentle 
man  spoke  in  her  favor  with  great  fluency ;  "  she  was 
young,  healthy,  active,  intelligent,  a  graduate  of  the 
high  school." 

"  And  very  pretty,  is  she  not  ?"  asked  a  member 
of  the  board,  maliciously. 

The  Doctor  colored,  but  was  .not  abashed.  He 
gazed  steadily  at  the  interrupter  through  his  round 
glasses,  and  said : 

"  Yes,  she  is  very  fine  looking — but  I  do  not  see 
that  that  should  stand  in  her  way." 

Not  another  word  was  said*  against  her,  and  a 


64  THE   BEBAD-WINNEKS. 

ballot  was  taken  to  decide  the  question.  There 
were  five  members  of  the  board,  three  besides 
Farnham  and  Buchlieber.  Maud  had  two  votes, 
and  a  young  woman  whose  name  had  not  been 
mentioned  received  the  other  three.  Buchlieber 
counted  the  ballots,  and  announced  the  vote.  Farn- 
liam  flushed  with  anger.  Not  only  had  no  atten 
tion  been  paid  to  his  recommendation,  but  he  had 
not  even  been  informed  that  there  was  another 
candidate.  In  a  few  sarcastic  words  he  referred 
to  the  furtive  understanding  existing  among  the 
majority,  and  apologized  for  having  made  such  a 
mistake  as  to  suppose  they  cared  to  hear  the  merits 
of  appointees  discussed. 

The  three  colleagues  sat  silent.  At  last,  one  of 
them  crossed  his  legs  anew  and  said  : 

"  I'm  sure  nobody  meant  any  offence.  We 
agreed  on  this  lady  several  days  ago.  I  know 
nothing  about  her,  but  her  father  used  to  be  one 
of  our  best  workers  in  the  seventh  ward.  He  is 
in  the  penitentiary  now,  and  the  family  is  about 
down  to  bedrock.  The  reason  we  didn't  take  part 
in  the  discussion  was  we  wanted  to  avoid  hard 
feelings." 

The  other  two  crossed  their  legs  the  other  way, 
and  said  they  "  concurred." 

Their  immovable  phlegm,  their  long,  expression 
less  faces,  the  dull,  monotonous  twang  of  their 
voices,  the  oscillation  of  the  three  large  feet  hung 
over  the  bony  knees  had  now,  as  of  ten 'before,  a 
singular  effect  upon  Farnham's  irritation.  He  felt 
he  could  not  irritate  them  in  return ;  they  could 
not  appreciate  his  motives,  and  thought  too  little  of 


THE   BREAD-WINKERS.  55 

his  opinion  to  be  angry  at  his  contempt.  He  was 
thrown  back  upon  himself  now  as  before.  It  was 
purely  a  matter  of  conscience  whether  he  should 
stay  and  do  what  good  he  could,  or  resign  and  shake 
the  dust  of  the  city  hall  from  his  feet.  Whatever 
he  recommended  in  regard  to  the  administration  of 
the  library  was  always  adopted  without  comment ; 
but,  whenever  a  question  of  the  sort  which  the  three 
politicians  called  "  practical "  arose,  involving  perso 
nal  patronage  in  any  form,  they  always  arranged  it 
for  themselves,  without  even  pretending  to  ask  his 
or  Buchlieber's  opinion. 

The  very  fact  of  his  holding  the  position  of  chair 
man  of  the  board  was  wounding  to  his  self-love,  as 
soon  as  he  began  to  appreciate  the  purpose  with 
which  the  place  had  been  given  him.  He  and  some 
of  his  friends  had  attempted  a  movement  the  year 
before,  to  rescue  the  city  from  the  control  of  what 
they  considered  a  corrupt  combination  of  politicians. 
They  had  begun,  as  such  men  always  do,  too  late, 
and  without  any  adequate  organization,  and  the 
regular  workers  had  beaten  them  with  ridiculous 
ease.  In  Farnham's  own  ward,  where  he  possessed 
two  thirds  of  the  real  estate,  the  candidates  favored 
by  him  and  his  friends  received  not  quite  one  tenth  " 
of  the  votes  cast.  The  leader  of  the  opposing  forces 
was  a  butcher,  one  Jacob  Metzger,  who  had  man 
aged  the  politics  of  tfye  ward  for  years.  He  was 
not  a  bad  man  so  fa^r  as  his  lights  extendegl.  He 
sold  meat  on  business  principles,  so  as  to  get  the 
most  out  of  a  carcass*;  and  he  conducted  his  politi 
cal  operations  in  the  same  way.  He  made  his  bar 
gains  with  aspirants  and  office-holders,  and  kept 


56  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

them  religiously.  He  had  been  a  little  alarmed  at 
the  sudden  irruption  of  such  men  as  Farnham  and 
his  associates  into  the  field  of  ward  politics;  he 
dreaded  the  combined  effect  of  their  money  and 
their  influence.  But  he  soon  found  he  had  nothing 
to  fear — they  would  not  use  their  money,  and  they 
did  not  know  how  to  use  their  influence.  They 
hired  halls,  opened  committee- rooms,  made  speeches, 
and  thundered  against  municipal  iniquities  in  the 
daily  press ;  but  Jacob  Metzger,  when  he  discovered 
that  this  was  all,  possessed  his  soul  in  peace,  and 
even  got  a  good  deal  of  quiet  fun  out  of  the  can 
vass.  He  did  not  take  the  trouble  to  be  angry  at 
the  men  who  were  denouncing  him,  and  supplied 
Farnham  with  beefsteaks  unusually  tender  and 
juicy,  while  the  young  reformer  was  seeking  his 
political  life. 

"  Lord  love  you,"  he  said  to  Budsey,  as  he  handed 
him  a  delicious  rib-roast  the  day  before  election. 
"There's  nothing  I  like  so  much  as  to  see  young 
men  o'  property  go  into  politics.  We  need  'em. 
Of  course,  I  wisht  the  Cap'n  was  on  my  side ;  but 
anyhow,  I'm  glad  to  see  him  takin'  an  interest." 

He  knew  well  enough  the  way  the  votes  would 
run ;  that  every  grog-shop  in  the  ward  was  his  re 
cruiting  station ;  that  all  Farnham's  tenants  would 
vote  against  their  landlord;  that  even  the  respecta 
ble  Budsey  and  the  prim  Scotch  gardener  were  sure 
for  him  against  their  employer.  Farnham's  con 
science  which  had  roused  him  to  this  effort  against 
Metzger's  corrupt  rule,  would  not  permit  him  to 
ask  for  the  votes  of  his  own  servants  and  tenants, 
and  he  would  have  regarded  it  as  simply  infamous 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  57 

to  spend  money  to  secure  the  floating  crowd  of 
publicans  and  sinners  who  formed  the  strength  of 
Jacob. 

His  failure  was  so  complete  and  unexpected  that 
there  seemed  to  him  something  of  degradation  in 
it,  and  in  a  fit  of  uncontrollable  disgust  he  sailed  for 
Europe  the  week  afterward.  Metzger  took  his  vic 
tory  good-naturedly  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  gave 
his  explanation  of  it  to  a  reporter  of  the  "  Bale-Fire" 
who  called  to  interview  him. 

"Mr.  Farnham,  who  led  the  opposition  to  our 
organize-ation,  is  a  young  gen'l'man  of  fine  talents 
and  high  character.  I  ain't  got  a  word  to  say 
against  him.  The  only  trouble  is,  he  lacks  prac 
tical  experience,  and  he  ain't  got  no  personal  magn't- 
ism.  ISTow  I'm  one  of  the  people,  I  know  what  they 
want,  and  on  that  line  I  carried  the  ward  against  a 
combine-ation  of  all  the  wealth  and  aristocracy  of 
Algonkin  Av'noo." 

Jacob's  magnanimity  did  not  rest  with  merely 
a  verbal  acknowledgment  of  Farnham's  merits. 
While  he  was  abroad  some  of  the  city  departments 
were  reorganized,  and  Farnham  on  his  return  found 
himself,  through  Metzger's  intervention,  chairman 
of  the  library  board.  With  characteristic  sagacity 
the  butcher  kept  himself  in  the  background,  and 
the  committee  who  waited  upon  Farnham  to  ask 
him  to  accept  the  appointment  placed  it  entirely 
upon  considerations  of  the  public  good.  His  sensi 
tive  conscience  would  not  permit  him  to  refuse  a 
duty  thus  imposed,  and  so  with  many  inward  qualms 
he  assumed  a  chair  in  the  yile  municipal  govern 
ment  he  had  so  signally  failed  to  overthrow.  He 


58  THE   BEEAD-WItftfERS. 

had  not  long  occupied  it,  when  he  saw  to  what  his 
selection  was  attributable.  He  was  a  figure-head 
and  he  knew  it,  but  he  saw  no  decent  escape  from 
the  position.  As  long  as  they  allowed  him  and  the 
librarian  (who  was  also  a  member  of  the  board)  to 
regulate  the  library  to  their  liking,  he  could  not  in 
quire  into  their  motives  or  decline  association  with 
them.  He  was  perfectly  free  to  furnish  what  men 
tal  food  he  chose  to  two  hundred  thousand  people, 
and  he  felt  it  would  be  cowardice  to  surrender  that 
important  duty  on  any  pitiful  question  of  patronage 
or  personal  susceptibility. 

So  once  more  he  stifled  the  impulse  to  resign  his 
post,  and  the  meeting  adjourned  without  further 
incident.  As  he  walked  home,  he  was  conscious  of 
a  disagreeable  foreboding  of  something  in  the  future 
which  he  would  like  to  avoid.  Bringing  his  mind 
to  bear  upon  it,  it  resplved  itself  into  nothing  more 
formidable  than  the  coming  interview  with  Miss 
Matchin.  It  would  certainly  be  unpleasant  to  tell 
her  that  her  hopes  were  frustrated,  when  she  had 
seemed  so  confident.  At  this  thought,  he  felt  the 
awakening  of  a  sense  of  protectorship ;  she  had 
trusted  in  him ;  he  ought  to  do  something  for  her, 
if  for  nothing  else,  to  show  that  he  was  not  de 
pendent  upon  those  ostrogoths.  But  what  could  be 
done  for  such  a  girl,  so  pretty,  so  uncultivated,  so 
vulgarly  fantastic  ?  Above  all,  what  could  be  done 
for  her  by  a  young  and  unmarried  man?  Provi 
dence  and  society  have  made  it  very  hard  for  single 
men  to  show  kindness  to  single  women  in  any  way 
but  one. 

At  his  door  he  found  Sam  Sleeny  with  a  kit  of 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  59 

tools;  he  had  just  rung  the  bell.  He  turned,  as 
Farnham  mounted  the  steps,  and  said : 

"  I  come  from  Matchin's — something  about  the 
greenhouse." 

"Yes,"  answered  Farnham.  "The  gardener  is 
over  yonder  at  the  corner  of  the  lawn.  He  will  tell 
you  what  is  to  be  done." 

Sam  walked  away  in  the  direction  indicated,  and 
Farnham  went  into  the  house.  Some  letters  were 
lying  on  the  table  in  the  library.  He  had  just  begun 
to  read  them  when  Budsey  entered  and  announced : 

"  That  young  person." 

Maud  came  in  flushed  with  the  fresh  air  and  rapid 
walking.  Farnham  saw  that  she  wore  no  glasses, 
and  she  gained  more  by  that  fact  in  his  good-will 
than  even  by  the  brilliancy  of  her  fine  eyes  which 
seemed  to  exult  in  their  liberation.  She  began  with 
nervous  haste : 

"  I  knew  you  had  a  meeting  to-day,  and  I  could 
not  wait.  I  might  as  well  own  up  that  I  followed 
you  home." 

Farnham  handed  her  a  chair  and  took  her  hand 
with  a  kindly  earnestness,  saying, 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  she  continued ;  "  but  have  you  any 
good  news  for  me  ?" 

The  anxious  eagerness  which  spoke  in  her  spark 
ling  eyes  and  open  lips  touched  Farnham  to  the 
heart.  "I  am  sorry  I  have  not.  The  board  ap 
pointed  another  person." 

The  tears  sprang  to  her  eyes. 

"I  really  expected  it.  I  hoped  you  would  in 
terest  yourself." 


j 

60  THE  BREAD-WINNERS. 

"  I  did  all  I  possibly  could,"  said  Farnham.  "  I 
have  never  tried  so  hard  for  anybody  before,  but  a 
majority  were  already  pledged  to  the  other  appli 
cant." 

She  seemed  so  dejected  and  hopeless  that  Farn 
ham,  forgetting  for  a  moment  how  hard  it  is  for  a 
young  man  to  assist  a  young  woman,  said  two  or 
three  fatal  words,  "  We  must  try  something  else." 

The  pronoun  sounded  ominous  to  him  as  soon  as 
he  had  uttered  it.  But  it  acted  like  magic  upon 
Maud.  She  lifted  a  bright  glance  through  her  tears 
and  said,  like  a  happy  child  to  whom  a  new  game 
has  been  proposed,  "  What  shall  we  try  ?" 

Simple  as  the  words  were,  both  of  them  seemed 
to  feel  that  a  certain  relation — a  certain  responsi 
bility — had  been  established  between  them.  The 
thought  exhilarated  Maud ;  it  seemed  the  beginning 
of  her  long-expected  romance ;  while  the  glow  of 
kind  feeling  about  the  heart  of  Farnham  could  not 
keep  him  from  suspecting  that  he  was  taking  a  very 
imprudent  step.  But  they  sat  a  good  while,  dis 
cussing  various  plans  for  Maud's  advantage,  and 
arriving  at  nothing  definite ;  for  her  own  ideas  were 
based  upon  a  dime-novel  theory  of  the  world,  and 
Farnham  at  last  concluded  that  he  would  be  forced 
finally  to  choose  some  way  of  life  for  his  protegee, 
and  then  persuade  her  to  accept  it. 

He  grew  silent  and  thoughtful  with  this  reflec 
tion,  and  the  conversation  languished.  He  was  try 
ing  to  think  how  he  could  help  her  without  these 
continued  interviews  at  his  house,  when  she  disposed 
of  the  difficulty  by  rising  briskly  and  saying,  "  Well, 
I  will  call  again  in  a  day  or  two,  about  this  hour  ?" 


THE  BREAD-WINNERS.  61 

"  Yes,  if  it  suits  you  best,"  he  answered,  with  a 
troubled  brow.  He  followed  her  to  the  door.  As 
she  went  out,  she  said,  "  May  I  pick  a  flower  as  I 

got" 

He  seized  his  hat,  and  said,  "  Come  with  me  to 
the  rose-house  in  the  garden,  and  you  shall  have 
something  better." 

They  walked  together  down  the  gravel  paths, 
through  the  neat  and  well-kept  garden,  where  the 
warm  spring  sunshine  was  calling  life  out  of  the 
tender  turf,  and  the  air  was  full  of  delicate  odors. 
She  seemed  as  gay  and  happy  as  a  child  on  a  holi 
day.  Her  disappointment  of  an  hour  ago  was 
all  gone  in  the  feeling  that  Arthur  was  interested 
in  her,  was  caring  for  her  future.  Without  any 
definite  hopes  or  dreams,  she  felt  as  if  the  world 
was  suddenly  grown  richer  and  wider.  Something 
good  was  coming  to  her  certainly,  something  good 
had  come ;  for  was  she  not  walking  in  this  lovely 
garden  with  its  handsome  proprietor,  who  was,  she 
even  began  to  think,  her  friend  ?  The  turf  was  as 
soft,  the  air  as  mild,  the  sun  as  bright  as  in  any  of 
her  romances,  and  the  figure  of  Farnham's  wealth 
which  she  had  heard  from  her  father  rang  musically 
in  her  mind. 

They  went  into  the  rose-house,  and  he  gave  her 
two  or  three  splendid  satiny  Marechal  Niels,  and 
then  a  Jacqueminot,  so  big,  so  rich  and  lustrous  in 
its  dark  beauty,  that  she  could  not  help  crying  out 
with  delight.  He  was  pleased  with  her  joy,  and 
gave  her  another,  "for  your  hair,"  he  said.  She 
colored  with  pleasure  till  her  cheek  was  like  the 
royal  flower.  "  Hallo !"  thought  Farnham  to  him- 


62  THE   BREAD-WINKERS. 

self,  uslie  does  not  take  these  things  as  a  matter  of 
course."  When  they  came  into  the  garden  again, 
he  made  the  suggestion  which  had  been  in  his  mind 
for  the  last  half  hour. 

"  If  you  are  going  home,  the  nearest  way  will  be 
by  the  garden  gate  into  Bishop's  Lane.  It  is  only  a 
minute  from  there  to  Dean  Street." 

"Why,  that  would  be  perfectly  lovely.  But 
where  is  the  gate  ?" 

"  I  will  show  you.  They  walked  together  to  the 
lower  end  of  the  lawn,  where  a  long  line  of  glass 
houses  built  against  the  high  wall  which  separated 
the  garden  from  the  street  called  Bishop's  Lane, 
sheltered  the  grapes  and  the  pine-apples.  At  the 
end  of  this  conservatory,  in  the  wall,  was  a  little 
door  of  thin  but  strong  steel  plates,  concealed  from 
sight  by  a  row  of  pear  trees.  Farnham  opened  it, 
and  said,  "  If  you  like,  you  can  come  in  by  this 
way.  It  is  never  locked  in  the  daytime.  It  will 
save  you  a  long  walk." 

"  Thanks,"  she  replied.  "  That  will  be  perfectly 
lovely." 

Her  resources  of  expression  were  not  copious, 
but  her  eyes  and  her  mouth  spoke  volumes  of  joy 
and  gratitude.  Her  hands  were  full  of  roses,  and 
as  she  raised  her  beautiful  face  to  him  with  pleas 
ure  flashing  from  her  warm  cheeks  and  lips  ancl 
eyes,  she  seemed  to  exhale  something  of  the  vigor 
ous  life  and  impulse  of  the  spring  sunshine.  Earn, 
ham  felt  that  he  had  nothing  to  do  but  stoop  anc} 
kiss  the  blooming  flower-like  face,  and  in  her  exalted 
condition  she  would  have  thought  little  more  of  it 
than  a  blush-rose  thinks  of  the  same  treatment 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  63 

But  lie  refrained,  and  said  "  Good  morning,"  be 
cause  she  seemed  in  no  mood  to  say  it  first. 

"  Good-by,  for  a  day  or  two,"  she  said,  gayly,  as 
she  bent  her  head  to  pass  under  the  low  lintel  of 
the  gate. 

Farnham  walked  back  to  the  house  not  at  all 
satisfied  with  himself.  "  I  wonder  whether  I  have 
mended  matters  ?  She  is  certainly  too  pretty  a  girl  to 
be  running  in  and  out  of  my  front  door  in  the  sight 
of  all  the  avenue.  How  much  better  will  it  be  for 
her  to  use  the  private  entrance,  and  come  and  go 
by  a  sort  of  stealth !  But  then  she  does  not  regard 
it  that  way.  She  is  so  ignorant  of  this  wicked 
world  that  it  seems  to  her  merely  a  saving  of  ten 
minutes'  walk  around  the  block.  Well !  all  there  is 
of  it,  I  must  find  a  place  for  her  before  she  domes 
ticates  herself  here." 

The  thought  of  what  should  be  done  with  her 
remained  persistently  with  him  and  kept  him  irri 
tated  by  the  vision  of  her  provoking  and  useless 
beauty.  "  If  she  were  a  princess,"  he  thought,  "  all 
the  poets  would  be  twanging  their  lyres  about  her, 
all  the  artists  would  be  dying  to  paint  her ;  she  would 
have  songs  made  to  her,  and  sacred  oratorios  given 
under  her  patronage.  She  would  preside  at  church 
fairs  and  open  the  dance  at  charity  balls.  If  I  could 
start  her  in  life  as  a  princess,  the  thing  would  go  on 
wheels.  But  to  earn  her  own  living — that  is  a  trade 
of  another  complexion.  She  has  not  breeding  or 
education  enough  for  a  governess :  she  is  not  clever 
enough  to  write  or  paint ;  she  is  not  steady  enough 
to  keep  accounts, — by  the  Great  Jornada !  I  have 
a  grievous  contract  on  my  hands." 


64  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

He  heard  the  sound  of  hoofs  outside  his  window, 
and,  looking  out,  saw  his  groom  holding  a  young 
brown  horse  by  the  bridle,  the  well-groomed  coat  of 
the  animal  shining  in  the  warm  sunlight.  In  a  few 
moments  Farnham  was  in  the  saddle  and  away. 
For  awhile  he  left  his  perplexities  behind,  in  the 
pleasure  of  rapid  motion  and  fresh  air.  But  he 
drew  rein  half  an  hour  afterward  at  Acland  Falls, 
and  the  care  that  had  sat  on  the  crupper  came  to  the 
front  again.  "As  a  last  resort,"  he  said,  "I  can 
persuade  her  she  has  a  voice,  and  send  her  to  Italy, 
and  keep  her  the  rest  of  her  life  cultivating  it  in 
Milan." 

All  unconscious  of  the  anxiety  she  was  occasion 
ing,  Maud  walked  home  with  her  feet  scarcely  aware 
of  the  pavement.  She  felt  happy  through  and 
through.  There  was  little  thought,  and  we  may 
say  little  selfishness  in  the  vague  joy  that  filled  her. 
The  flowers  she  held  in  her  hands  recalled  the  faint 
odors  she  had  inhaled  in  Farnham's  house;  they 
seemed  to  her  a  concrete  idea  of  luxury.  Her  mind 
was  crowded  and  warmed  with  every  detail  of  her 
visit :  the  dim,  wide  hall ;  the  white  cravat  of  Bud- 
sey;  the  glimpse  she  caught  of  the  dining-room 
through  the  open  door ;  the  shimmer  of  cut  glass 
and  porcelain ;  the  rich  softness  of  the  carpets  and 
rugs,  the  firelight  dancing  on  the  polished  brass,  the 
tender  glow  of  light  and  repose  of  shadow  on  the 
painted  walls  and  ceilings ;  the  walk  in  the  trim 
garden,  amid  the  light  and  fragrance  of  the  spring ; 
the  hot  air  of  the  rose-house,  which  held  her  close, 
and  made  her  feel  faint  and  flushed,  like  a  warm 
embrace ;  and  through  all  the  ever-present  image  of 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  65 

the  young  man,  with  his  pleasant,  unembarrassed 
smile,  the  white  teeth  shining  under  the  dark  mus 
tache  ;  the  eyes  that  seemed  to  see  through  her,  and 
yet  told  her  nothing ;  and  more  than  all  this  to  poor 
Maud,  the  perfect  fit  and  fashion  of  his  clothes, 
filled  her  with  a  joyous  trouble.  She  could  not 
dwell  upon  her  plans  for  employment.  She  felt  as 
if  she  had  found  her  mission,  her  true  trade, — which 
was  to  walk  in  gardens  and  smell  hot-house  roses. 
The  perplexities  which  filled  Farriham's  head  as  to 
what  he  should  do  with  her  found  no  counterpart 
in  hers.  She  had  stopped  thinking  and  planning ; 
things  were  going  very  well  with  her  as  it  was.  She 
had  lost  the  place  she  had  wished  and  expected, 
and  yet  this  was  the  pleasantest  day  of  her  life. 
Her  responsibility  seemed  sliif  ted  to  stronger  hands. 
It  had  become  Farnham's  business  to  find  something 
nice  for  her :  this  would  be  easy  for  him ;  he  be 
longed  to  the  class  to  whom  everything  is  easy.  She 
did  not  even  trouble  herself  to  think  what  it  would 
be  as  she  loitered  home  in  the  sunshine.  She  saw 
her  father  and  informed  him  in  a  few  words  of  her 
failure;  then  went  to  her  room  and  sat  down  by 
her  window,  and  looked  for  hours  at  the  spar.kling 
lake. 

She  was  called  to  supper  in  the  midst  of  her 
reverie.  She  was  just  saying  to  herself,  "  If  there 
was  just  one  man  and  one  woman  in  the  world,  and 
I  had  the  picking  out  of  the  man  and  the  woman, 
this  world  would  suit  me  pretty  well."  She  re 
sented  being  called  into  other  society  than  that  of 
her  idle  thoughts,  and  sat  silent  through  supper,  try- 
ing  to  keep  the  thread  of  her  fancies  from  breaking. 
6 


66  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

But  she  was  not  allowed  to  go  back  undisturbed  to 
her  fool's  paradise. 

Sleeny,  who  had  scarcely  removed  his  eyes  from 
her  during  the  meal,  rose  with  a  start  as  she  walked 
into  the  little  sitting-room  of  the  family,  and  fol 
lowed  her.  She  went  to  the  window  with  a  novel 
to  make  use  of  the  last  moments  of  daylight.  He 
stood  before  her  without  speaking,  until  she  raised 
her  eyes,  and  said  sharply : 

"  Well,  Sam,  what's  the  matter  ?" 

He  was  not  quick  either  of  thought  or  speech. 
He  answered : 

"  Oh !  nothin'.     Only " 

"  Only  what  ?"  she  snapped. 

"  Won't  you  go  and  take  a  walk  by  the  Bluff?" 

She  threw  down  her  book  at  once.  She  liked  ex 
ercise  and  fresh  air,  and  always  walked  with  pleasure 
by  the  lake.  Sam  was  to  her  such  a  nullity  that  she 
enjoyed  his  company  almost  as  much  as  being  alone. 
She  was  ready  in  a  moment,  and  a  short  walk  brought 
them  to  the  little  open  place  reserved  for  public 
use,  overlooking  the  great  fresh-water  sea.  There 
were  a  few  lines  of  shade  trees  and  a  few  seats,  and 
nothing  more ;  yet  the  plantation  was  called  Bluff 
Park,  and  it  was  much  frequented  on  holidays  and 
Sundays  by  nurses  and  their  charges.  It  was  in  no 
sense  a  fashionable  resort,  or  Maud  would  never 
have  ventured  there  in  company  with  her  humble 
adorer.  But  among  the  jovial  puddlers  and  brake- 
men  that  took  the  air  there,  it  was  well  enough  to 
have  an  escort  so  devoted  and  so  muscular.  So 
pretty  a  woman  could  scarcely  have  walked  alone 
in  Bluff  Park  without  insulting  approaches.  Maud 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  67 

would  hardly  have  nodded  to  Sleeny  on  Algonquin 
Avenue,  for  fear  some  millionaire  might  see  it  casu 
ally,  and  scorn  them  both.  But  on  the  Bluff  she 
was  safe  from  such  accidents,  and  she  sometimes 
even  took  his  arm,  and  made  him  too  happy  to  talk. 
They  would  walk  together  for  an  hour,  he  dumb 
with  audacious  hopes  that  paralyzed  his  speech,  and 
she  dreaming  of  things  thousands  of  miles  away. 

This  evening  he  was  even  more  than  usually  si 
lent.  Maud,  after  she  had  worn  her  reverie  thread 
bare,  noticed  his  speechlessness,  and,  fearing  he  was 
about  to  renew  the  subject  which  was  so  tiresome, 
suddenly  stopped  and  said  : 

"  What  a  splendid  sunset !  Did  you  ever  see  any 
thing  like  it  ?" 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  with  his  gentle  drawl.  "  Less  set 
here,  and  look  at  it." 

He  took  his  seat  on  one  of  the  iron  benches 
painted  green,  and  decorated  with  castings  of  grapes 
and  vine  leaves.  She  sat  down  beside  him  and 
gazed  out  over  the  placid  water,  on  which  the  crim 
son  clouds  cast  a  mellow  glory.  The  sky  seemed 
like  another  sea,  stretching  off  into  infinite  distance, 
and  strewn  with  continents  of  fiery  splendor.  Maud 
looked  straight  forward  to  the  clear  horizon  line, 
marking  the  flight  of  ships  whose  white  sails  were 
dark  against  the  warm  brightness  of  the  illumined 
water.  But  no  woman  ever  looked  so  straight  be 
fore  her  as  not  to  observe  the  man  beside  her,  and 
she  knew,  without  moving  her  eyes  from  the  spec 
tacle  of  the  sunset,  that  Sam  was  gazing  fixedly  at 
her,  with  pain  and  trouble  in  his  face.  At  last;  he 
said,  in  a  timid,  choking  voice, 


68  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

"  Mattie !" 

She  did  not  turn  her  face,  but  answered : 

"If  it  ain't  too  much  trouble,  I'd  like  to  have  you 
call  me  Miss  when  we're  alone.  You'll  be  forget 
ting  yourself,  and  calling  me  Mattie  before  other 
people,  before  you  know  it." 

"Hold  on,"  he  burst  out.  "Don't  talk  to  me 
that  way  to-night — I  can't  stand  it." 

She  glanced  at  him  in  surprise.  His  face  was 
pale  and  disordered ;  he  was  twisting  his  fingers  as 
if  he  would  break  them. 

"  Your  temper  seems  to  be  on  the  move,  Mr. 
Sleeny.  We'd  better  go  home,"  she  said  quietly, 
drawing  her  shawl  about  her. 

"Don't  go  till  I  tell  you  something,"  he  stam 
mered  hastily. 

"  I  have  no  curiosity  to  hear  what  you  have  to 
say,"  she  said,  rising  from  her  seat. 

"  It  ain't  what  you  think — it  aint  about  me  !" 

Her  curiosity  awoke,  and  she  sat  down  again. 
Sleeny  sat  twisting  his  fingers,  growing  pale  and  red 
by  turns.  At  last,  in  a  tremulous  voice,  he  said : 

"  1  was  there  to-day." 

She  stared  at  him  an  instant  and  said  : 

"  Where  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  was  there,  and  I  seen  you.  I  was  at  work 
at  the  end  of  the  greenhouse  there  by  the  gate  when 
you  come  out  of  the  rose-house.  I  was  watchin'  for 
you.  I  was  on  the  lawn  talkin'  with  the  gardener 
when  you  went  in  the  house.  About  an  hour  after 
ward  I  seen  you  comin'  down  the  garden  with  him 
to  the  rose-house.  If  you  had  'a'  stayed  there  a  min 
ute  more,  I  would  ha'  went  in  there.  But  out  you 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  69 

come  with  your  hands  full  o'  roses,  and  him  and 
you  come  to  the  gate.  I  stopped  workin'  and  kep' 
still  behind  them  pear  trees,  and  I  heard  every 
thing." 

He  uttered  each  word  slowly,  like  a  judge  deliv 
ering  sentence.  His  face  had  grown  very  red  and 
hot,  and  as  he  finished  his  indictment  he  drew  a 
yellow  handkerchief  from  his  pocket  and  mopped 
the  sweat  from  his  forehead,  his  chin,  and  the  back 
of  his  neck. 

"  Oh !"  answered  Maud,  negligently,  "  you  heard 
everything,  did  you  ?  Well,  you  didn't  hear  much." 

"  I  tell  you,"  he  continued,  with  a  sullen  rage, 
"  I  heard  every  word.  Do  you  hear  me  ?  I  heard 
every  word." 

The  savage  roughness  of  his  voice  made  her 
tremble,  but  her  spirits  rose  to  meet  his  anger,  and 
she  laughed  as  she  replied  : 

"  Well,  you  heard  '  Thank  you,  sir,'  and  i  Good- 
morning.'  It  wasn't  much,  unless  you  took  it  as  a 
lesson  in  manners,  and  goodness  knows  you  need  it." 

"  Now,  look'ye  here.  It's  no  use  foolin'  with  me. 
You  know  what  I  heard.  If  you  don't,  I'll  tell 
you  !" 

"Yery  -well,  Mr.  Paul  Pry,  what  was  it?"  said 
the  angry  girl,  who  had  quite  forgotten  that  any 
words  were  spoken  at  the  gate. 

"  I  heard  him  tell  you  you  could  come  in  any 
time  the  back  way,"  Sam  hoarsely  whispered,  watch 
ing  her  face  with  eyes  of  fire.  She  turned  crimson 
as  the  sunset  she  was  gazing  at,  and  she  felt  as  if 
she  could  have  torn  her  cheeks  with  her  finger 
nails  for  blushing.  She  was  aware  of  having  done 


70  THE   BREAD-WINTOJRS. 

nothing  wrong,  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of.  She  had 
been  all  day  cherishing  the  recollection  of  her  visit 
to  Farnham  as  something  too  pleasant  and  delicate 
to  talk  about.  No  evil  thought  had  mingled  with 
it  in  her  own  mind.  She  had  hardly  looked  be 
yond  the  mere  pleasure  of  the  day.  She  had  not 
given  a  name  or  a  form  to  the  hopes  and  fancies 
that  were  fluttering  at  her  heart.  'And  now  to  have 
this  sweet  and  secret  pleasure  handled  and  mauled 
by  such  a  one  as  Sain  Sleeny  filled  her  with  a 
speechless  shame.  Even  yet  she  hardly  compre 
hended  the  full  extent  of  his  insinuation.  He  did 
not  leave  her  long  in  doubt.  Taking  her  silence  and 
her  confusion  as  an  acknowledgment,  he  went  on, 
in  the  same  low,  savage  tone : 

"  I  had  my  hammer  in  my  hand.  I  looked  through 
the  pear  trees  to  see  if  he  kissed  you.  If  he  had  'a' 
done  it,  I  would  have  killed  him  as  sure  as  death." 

At  this  brutal  speech  she  turned  pale  a  moment, 
as  if  suddenly  struck  a  stunning  blow.  Then  she 
cried  out : 

"  Hold  your  vile  tongue,  you " 

But  she  felt  her  voice  faltering  and  the  tears  of 
rage  gushing  from  her  eyes.  She  buried  her  face 
in  her  hands  and  sat  a  little  while  in  silence,  while 
Sam  was  dumb  beside  her,  feeling  like  an  awkward 
murderer.  She  was  not  so  overcome  that  she  did 
not  think  very  rapidly  during  this  moment's  pause. 
If  she  could  have  slain  the  poor  fellow  on  the  spot, 
she  would  not  have  scrupled  to  do  so ;  but  she  re 
quired  only  an  instant  to  reflect  that  she  had  better 
appease  him  for  the  present,  and  reserve  her  ven 
geance  for  a  more  convenient  season. 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  71 

She  dried  her  eyes  and  turned  them  on  him  with 
an  air  of  gentle,  almost  forgiving  reproach. 

"  Sam  !  I  could  not  have  believed  you  had  such  a 
bad,  wicked  heart.  I  thought  you  knew  me  better. 
I  won't  make  myself  so  cheap  as  to  explain  all  that 
to  you.  But  I'll  ask  you  to  do  one  thing  for  me. 
When  we  go  home  this  evening,  if  you  see  my 
father  alone,  you  tell  him  what  you  saw — and  if 
you've  got  any  shame  in  you  you'll  be  ashamed  of 
yourself." 

He  had  been  irritated  by  her  anger,  but  he  was 
completely  abashed  by  the  coolness  and  gentleness 
which  followed  her  burst  of  tears.  He  was  sorely 
confused  and  bewildered  by  her  command,  but  did 
not  dream  of  anything  but  obeying  it,  and  as  they 
walked  silently  home,  he  was  all  the  time  wonder 
ing  what  mysterious  motive  she  could  have  in  wish 
ing  him  to  denounce  her  to  her  father.  They  found 
Saul  Matchin  sitting  by  the  door,  smoking  a  cob- 
pipe.  Maud  went  in  and  Sam  seated  himself  beside 
the  old  man. 

"  How'd  you  get  along  at  Farnham's  ?"  said  Saul. 

Sam  started,  as  if  "  the  boss"  had  read  his  uneasy 
conscience.  But  he  answered  in  his  drawling  mono 
tone  : 

"  All  right,  I  guess.  That  doggoned  Scotchman 
thinks  he  knows  it  all ;  but  it'll  take  nigh  on  to  a 
week  to  do  what  I  could  ha'  done  in  a  day  or  two, 
if  I  worked  my  way." 

"  Well,"  said  Saul,  "  that  ain't  none  o'  your  look 
out.  Do  what  Scotchee  tells  you,  and  I'll  keep  the 
time  on  'em.  We  kin  stand  it,  ef  they  kin,"  and 
the  old  carpenter  laughed  with  the  foolish  pleasure 


72  THE    BREAD-WINNERS. 

of  a  small  mind  aware  of  an  advantage.  "  Ef  Art. 
Farnham  wants  to  keep  a  high-steppin'  Scotchman 
to  run  his  flowers,  may  be  he  kin  afford  it.  I  ain't 
his  gardeen." 

Now  was  Sleeny's  chance  to  make  his  disclosure ; 
but  his  voice  trembled  in  spite  of  him,  as  he  said  : 

"  I  seen  Mattie  up  there." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  old  man,  tranquilly.  "  She  went 
up  to  see  about  a  place  in  the  library.  He  said  there 
wasn't  none,  but  he'd  try  to  think  o'  somethin'  else 
that  'ud  suit  her.  He  was  mighty  polite  to  Mat — 
give  her  some  roses,  and  telled  her  to  run  in  and  out 
when  she  liked,  till  he  got  somethin'  fixed.  Fact 
is,  Mat  is  a  first-rate  scholar,  and  takes  with  them 
high-steppers,  like  fallin'  off  a  log."  Saul  had  be 
gun  to  feel  a  certain  pride  in  his  daughter's  accom 
plishments  which  had  so  long  been  an  affliction  to 
him.  The  moment  he  saw  -a  possibility  of  a  money 
return,  he  even  began  to  plume  himself  upon  his 
liberality  and  sagacity  in  having  educated  her.  "  I've 

spared   nothin' — Sam — in    giving  her  a "    he 

searched  an  instant  for  a  suitable  adjective,  "  a  com 
modious  education."  The  phrase  pleased  him  so 
well  that  he  smoked  for  awhile  contemplatively,  so 
as  not  to  mar  the  effect  of  his  point. 

Sam  had  listened  with  a  whirling  brain  to  the  old 
man's  quiet  story,  which  anticipated  his  own  in 
every  point.  He  could  not  tell  whether  he  felt 
more  relieved  or  disquieted  by  it.  It  all  seemed 
clear  and  innocent  enough  ;  but  he  felt,  with  a  sink 
ing  heart,  that  his  own  hopes  were  fading  fast,  in 
the  flourishing  prospects  of  his  beloved.  He  hated 
Farnham  not  less  in  his  attitude  of  friendly  protec- 


THE   BREAD-WINNEKS.  73 

tion  than  in  that  which  he  had  falsely  attributed  to 
him.  His  jealousy,  deprived  of  its  specific  occasion, 
nourished  itself  on  vague  and  torturing  possibilities. 
He  could  not  trust  himself  to  talk  further  with 
Matchin,  but  went  away  with  a  growing  fire  in  his 
breast.  He  hated  himself  for  having  prematurely 
spoken.  He  hated  Maud  for  the  beauty  that  she 
would  not  give  him,  and  which,  he  feared,  she  was 
ready  to  give  to  another.  He  hated  Saul,  for  his 
stolid  ignorance  of  his  daughter's  danger.  He  hated 
most  of  all  Farnham,  for  his  handsome  face,  his  easy 
smile,  his  shapely  hands,  his  fine  clothes,  his  unknown 
and  occult  gifts  of  pleasing. 

"  'Tainyt  in  natur,"  he  growled.  "  She's  the  pret 
tiest  woman  in  the  world.  If  he's  got  eyes,  he 
knows  it.  But  I  spoke  first,  and  he  shan't  have  her, 
if  I  die  for  it." 


74  THE   BREAD-W1KKEB8. 


V. 

A  PROFESSIONAL  REFORMER 

SLEENY  walked  moodily  down  the  street,  engaged 
in  that  self-torture  which  is  the  chief  recreation  of 
unhappy  lovers.  He  steeped  his  heart  in  gall  by 
imagining  Maud  in  love  with  another.  His  passion 
stimulated  his  slow  wits  into  unwonted  action,  until 
his  mind  began  to  form  exasperating  pictures  of  in 
timacies  which  drove  him  half  mad.  His  face  grew 
pale,  and  his  fists  were  tightly  clinched  as  he  walked. 
He  hardly  saw  the  familiar  street  before  him ;  he 
had  a  far  clearer  vision  of  Maud  and  Farnham  by  the 
garden  gate  :  her  beautiful  face  was  turned  up  to  the 
young  man's  with  the  winning  sweetness  of  a  flower, 
and  Sam's  irritated  fancy  supplied  the  kisses  he  had 
watched  for  in  the  shadow  of  the  pear-trees.  "  I 
'most  wish't  he'd  'a'  done  it,"  he  growled  to  himself. 
"  I  had  my  hammer  in  my  hand,  and  I  could  'a' 
finished  him  then  and  had  no  more  bother." 

He  felt  a  hand  on  his  shoulder,  and,  turning,  saw 
a  face  grinning  a  friendly  recognition.  -  It  was  a  face 
whose  whole  expression  was  oleaginous.  It  was 
surmounted  by  a  low  and  shining  forehead  covered 
by  reeking  black  hair,  worn  rather  long,  the  ends 
being  turned  under  by  the  brush.  The  mustache 
was  long  and  drooping,  dyed  black  and  profusely 
oiled,  the  dye  and  the  grease  forming  an  inharmo 
nious  compound.  The  parted  lips,  which  were  coarse 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  75 

and  thin,  displayed  an  imperfect  set  of  teeth,  much, 
discolored  with  tobacco.  The  eyes  were  light  green, 
with  the  space  which  should  have  been  white  suf 
fused  with  yellow  and  red.  It  was  one  of  those 
gifted  countenances  which  could  change  in  a  mo 
ment  from  a  dog-like  fawning  to  a  snaky  venom-  j 
ousness. 

The  man  wore  a  black  hat  of  soft  felt ;  his  clothes 
were  black  and  glistening  with  use  and  grease.  He 
was  of  medium  height,  not  especially  stout,  but  still 
strong  and  well  knit ;  he  moved  too  briskly  for  a 
tramp,  and  his  eyes  were  too  sly  and  furtive  to  be 
long  to  an  honest  man.  , — 

"  Well,  Samivel !"  he  began,  with  a  jolly  face- 
tiousness,  "  what's  your  noble  game  this  evenin'  ? 
You  look  like  you  was  down  on  your  luck.  Is  the 
fair  one  unkind  ?" 

Sam  turned  upon  him  with  an  angry  gesture. 

"  Hold  your  jaw,  or  I'll  break  it  for  you  !  Ever 
since  I  was  fool  enough  to  mention  that  thing  to 
you,  you've  been  cacklin'  about  it.  I've  had  enough 
of  it." 

"  Go  slow,  Quaker !"  the  man  rejoined.  "  If  you 
can't  take  a  joke,  I'll  stop  jokin' — that  settles  it. 
Come  along  and  get  a  glass  of  beer,  and  you'll  feel 
better." 

They  soon  came  to  a  garden  near  the  lake,  and  sat 
down  by  a  little  table  at  their  beer.  The  consumers 
were  few  and  silent.  The  garden  was  dimly  lighted, 
for  the  spring  came  slowly  up  that  way,  and  the  air 
was  not  yet  conducive  to  out-door  idling.  The 
greasy  young  man  laid  a  dirty  hand  on  the  arm  of 
Sleeny,  and  said : 


76  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

"  Honor  bright,  now,  old  fellow,  I  didn't  mean 
to  rough  you  when  I  said  that.  I  don't  want  to 
hurt  your  feelings  or  lose  your  confidence.  I  want 
you  to  tell  me  how  you  are  gettin'  along.  You  ain't 
got  no  better  friend  than  me  nowhere." 

"  Oh,"  said  Sam,  sulkily,  "  I  got  nothin'  to  say. 
She  don't  no  more  care  for  me  than  that  there 
mug." 

The  expression  that  came  over  his  friend's  face  at 
these  discouraged  words  was  not  one  of  sympathetic 
sorrow.  But  he  put  some  sympathy  into  his  voice 
as  he  said : 

"  Jest  think  of  that !  Such  a  fine  young  fellow  as 
you  are,  too.  Where  can  her  eyes  be  ?  And  I  seen 
you  walking  this  evenin'  by  the  lake  just  like  two 
robins.  And  yet  you  don't  get  ahead  any  !" 

"  Not  a  step,"  said  Sam. 

"  Anybody  in  your  light,  you  think  ?  Hullo  there, 
Dutchy,  swei  glass.  Any  other  fellow  takin'  your 
wind  ?"  and  his  furtive  eyes  darted  a  keen  interro 
gation.  Sam  did  riot  answer  at  once,  and  his  friend 
went  on  :  "  Why,  she  don't  hardly  know  anybody 
but  me  and'  you,  and,  he-he !  I  wouldn't  stand  no 
chance  at  all  against  you — hum  ?" 

"  Of  course  you  wouldn't,"  said  Sam,  with  slow 
contempt,  which  brought  the  muddy  blood  into  the 
sallow  cheek  in  front  of  him.  "  She  wouldn't  look 
at  you.  I'm  not  afraid  of  no  man,  Andy  Offitt, — 
I'm  afraid  of  money." 

He  flattered  his  jealous  heart  by  these  words.  It 
was  too  intolerable  to  think  that  any  mere  man 
should  take  his  sweetheart  away  from  him ;  and 
though  he  felt  how  hopeless  was  any  comparison 


THE    BREAD-WINNERS.  7? 

between  himself  and  Farnham,  he  tried  to  soothe 
himself  by  the  lie  that  they  were  equal  in  all  but 
money. 

His  words  startled  his  friend  Offitt.  He  ex 
claimed,  "  Why,  who  does  she  know  that's  got 
money  ?" 

But  Sleeny  felt  a  momentary  revolt  against  de 
livering  to  even  his  closest  confidant  the  name  of 
the  woman  he  loved  coupled  with  the  degrading 
suspicions  by  which  he  had  been  tormented  all  day. 
He  gruffly  answered :  "  That's  none  of  your  busi 
ness  ;  you  can't  help  me  in  this  thing,  and  I  ain't 
agoin'  to  chin  about  it  any  more." 

They  sat  for  awhile  in  silence,  drank  their  beer, 
and  ordered  more.  Offitt  at  last  spoke  again  : 

"  "Well,  I'll  be  hanged  if  you  ain't  the  best  grit  of 
any  fellow  I  know.  If  you  don't  want  to  talk,  a 
team  of  Morgan  horses  couldn't  make  you.  I  like 
a  man  that  can  hold  his  tongue." 

"  Then  I'm  your  huckleberry,"  said  Sleeny,  whose 
vanity  was  soothed  by  the  compliment. 

"  That's  so,"  said  Offitt,  with  an  admiring  smile. 
"  If  I  wanted  a  secret  kept,  I'd  know  where  to  come." 
Then  changing  his  manner  and  tone  to  an  expression 
of  profound  solemnity,  and  glancing  about  to  guard 
against  surprise,  he  said  :  "  My  dear  boy,  I've  wanted 
to  talk  to  you  a  long  time, — to  talk  serious.  You're 
not  one  of  the  common  kind  of  cattle  that  think  of 
nothin'  but  their  fodder  and  stall — are  you  2" 

Now,  Sam  was  precisely  of  the  breed  described 
by  his  friend,  but  what  man  ever  lived  who  knewj 
he  was  altogether  ordinary  ?  He  grinned  uneasily 
and  answered : 


78  THE   BREAD-WINKERS. 

"  I  guess  not." 

"  Exactly !"  said  Offitt.  "  There  are  some  of  us 
laboring  men  that  don't  propose  to  go  on  all  our 
lives  working  our  fingers  off  to  please  a  lot  of  vam 
pires  ;  we  propose  to  have  a  little  fairer  divide  than 
heretofore;  and  if  there  is  any  advantage  to  be 
gained,  we  propose  to  have  it  on  the  side  of  the  men 
who  do  the  work.  What  do  you  think  of  that?" 

"  That's  all  solid,"  said  Sleeny,  who  was  indiffer 
ently  interested  in  theseabstractions.  "  But  what 
you  goin'  to  do  about  ft  ?" j 

"  Do  !"  cried  Offitt.'  "^ We  are  goin'  to  make  war 
on  capital.  We  are  goiir  to  scare  the  blood-suckers 
into  terms.  We  are  goin'  to  get  our  rights — peace 
ably,  if  we  can't  get  them  any  other  way.  We  are 
goin'  to  prove  that  a  man  is  better  than  a  money 
bag."  He  rattled  off  these  words  as  a  listless  child 
says  its  alphabet  without  thinking  of  a  letter.  But 
he  was  closely  watching  Sam  to  see  if  any  of  these 
stereotyped  phrases  attracted  his  attention.  Sleeny 
smoked  his  cigar  with  the  air  of  polite  fatigue  with 
which  one  listens  to  abstract  statements  of  moral 
obligations. 

"  What  are  we,  anyhow  ?"  continued  the  greasy 
apostle  of  labor.  "  We  are  slaves ;  we  are  Roosian 
scurfs.  We  work  as  many  hours  as  our  owners  like  ; 
we  take  what  pay  they  choose  to  give  us ;  we  ask 
their  permission  to  live  and  breathe." 

"  Oh,  that's  a  lie !"  Sleeny  interrupted,  with  un 
broken  calmness.  "  Old  Saul  Matchin  and  me  come 
Jto  an  agreement  about  time  and  pay,  and  both  of  us 
iwas  suited.  Ef  he's  got  his  heel  onto  me,  I  don't 
feel  it." 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  79 

Offitt  darted  a  glance  of  scorn  upon  the  ignoble 
soul  who  was  content  with  his  bondage ;  but  the 
mention  of  Matchin  reminded  him  that  he  had  a 
final  shot  in  reserve,  and  he  let  it  off  at  once. 

"  Yes,  Saul  Matchin  is  a  laborin'  man  himself ; 
but  look  at  his  daughter.  She  would  die  before  she 
would  marry  a  workman.  "Why  ?"  and  his  green 
eyes  darted  livid  fire  as  they  looked  into  the  troubled 
ones  of  Sleeny. 

"  Well,  why  ?"  he  asked,  slowly. 

"  Because  she  loves  money  more  than  manhood. 
Because  she  puts  up  her  beauty  for  a  higher  bidder 
than  any " 

"  Now,  shet  up,  will  you  ?"  cried  Sam,  thoroughly 
aroused.  "  I  won't  set  here  and  hear  her  abused 
by  you  or  any  other  man.  What  business  is  it  of 
yours,  anyway  ?" 

Offitt  felt  that  his  shot  had  gone  home,  and  pur 
sued  his  advantage. 

"  It's  my  business,  Sam,  because  I'm  your  friend  ; 
because  I  hate  to  see  a  good  fellow  wronged ;  be 
cause  I  know  that  a  man  is  better  than  a  money 
bag.  Why,  that  girl  would  marry  you  in  a  minute 
if  you  was  rich.  But  because  you're  not  she  will 
strike  for  one  of  them  rose-water  snobs  on  Algon 
quin  Avenue."  Sam  writhed,  and  his  wheedling 
tormentor  continued,  watching  him  like  a  ferret. 
"  Perhaps  she  has  struck  for  one  of  them  already — 
perhaps — oh,  I  can't  say  what  may  have  happened. 
I  hate  the  world  when  I  see  such  doin's.  I  hate  the 
heartless  shams  that  give  labor  and  shame  to  the 
toilers  and  beauty  and  luxury  to  the  drones.  Who 
is  the  best  man,"  he  asked,  with  honest  frankness. 


80  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

"  you,  or  some  high-steppin'  snob  whose  daddy  has 
left  him  the  means  to  be  a  loafer  all  his  days  ?  And 
who  would  the  prettiest  girl  in  Buffland  prefer,  you 
or  the  loafer  ?  And  you  intend  to  let  Mr.  Loafer 
have  it  all  his  own  way  ?" 

"  No,  I  don't !"  Sam  roared,  like  a  baited  bull. 
"  Ef  any  man  crosses  my  path,  he  can  find  out 
which  is  the  best  man." 

"  There,  that's  more  like  you.  But  what  can  you 
do  alone  ?  That's  where  they  get  us  foul.  The  er- 
ristocrats,  the  money  power,  all  hang  together.  The 
laborin'  men  fight  singly,  and  alwuz  get  whipped. 
Now,  we  are  goin'  to  change  that.  We  are  goin'  to 
organize.  Look  here,  Sam,  I  am  riskin'  my  head 
in  tellin'  you  this — but  I  trust  you,  and  I  like  you, 
and  I'll  tell  you.  "We  have  organized.  We've  got 
a  society  in  this  town  pledged  to  the  cause  of  honest 
labor  and  against  capital — for  life  or  death.  We 
want  you.  We  want  men  of  sand  and  men  of 
sense,  and  you've  got  both.  You  must  join." 

Sam  Sleeny  was  by  this  time  pretty  well  filled 
with  beer  and  wrath.  He  felt  himself  in  a  certain 
sense  bound  by  the  weighty  secret  which  Oftitt  had 
imparted  to  him  and  flattered  by  his  invitation.  A 
few  touches  more  of  adroit  flattery,  and  the  agita 
tor's  victory  was  complete.  Sleeny  felt  sore  and 
tired  to  the  very  heart.  He  had  behaved  like  a 
brute  to  the  girl  he  loved ;  he  had  been  put  clearly 
in  the  wrong  in  his  quarrel  with  her,  and  yet  he 
was  certain  that  all  was  not  well  with  either  of 
them.  The  tormenting  syllogism  ran  continually 
through  his  head  :  "  She  is  the  prettiest  woman  in 
the  world — rich  fellows  like  pretty  women, — there- 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  81 

fore — death  and  curses  on  him!"  Or  sometimes 
the  form  of  it  would  change  to  this :  "  He  is  rich 
and  handsome — girls  like  men  who  are  rich  and 
handsome, — therefore ,"  the  same  rage  and  im 
precations,  and  the  same  sense  of  powerless  fury. 
He  knew  and  cared  nothing  about  Offitt's  Labor 
Reform.  He  could  earn  a  good  living  by  his  trade, 
no  matter  who  went  to  Congress,  and  he  hated  these 
"  chinny  bummers,"  as  he  called  them,  who  talked 
about  "  State  help  and  self-help"  over  their  beer. 
But  to-night  he  was  tormented  and  badgered  to 
such  a  point  that  he  was  ready  for  anything  which 
his  tempter  might  suggest.  The  words  of  Offitt,  al 
ternately  wheedling  and  excoriating,  had  turned  his 
foolish  head.  His  hatred  of  Farnham  was  easily 
extended  to  the  class  to  which  he  belonged,  and 
even  to  the  money  which  made  him  formidable. 

He  walked  away  from  the  garden  with  Offitt,  and 
turned  down  a  filthy  alley  to  a  squalid  tenement 
house, — called  by  its  proprietor  Perry  Place,  and  by 
the  neighbors  Rook's  Ranch, — to  the  lodge-room  of 
the  Brotherhood  of  Bread-winners,  which  proved  to 
be  Offitt's  lodging.  They  found  there  a  half  dozen 
men  lounging  about  the  entrance,  who  scowled  and 
swore  at  Offitt  for  being  late,  and  then  followed 
him  sulkily  up  two  nights  of  ill-smelling  stairs  to 
his  room.  He  turned  away  their  wrath  by  soft  an 
swers,  and  hastily  lighting  a  pair  of  coal-oil  lamps, 
which  gave  forth  odor  more  liberally  than  illumina 
tion,  said  briskly : 

"  Gentlemen,  I  have  brought  you  a  recruit  this 
evenin'  that  you  will  all  be  glad  to  welcome  to  our 
brotherhood." 


82  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

The  brothers,  who  had  taken  seats  where  they 
could  find  them,  on  a  dirty  bed,  a  wooden  trunk, 
and  two  or  three  chairs  of  doubtful  integrity, 
grunted  a  questionable  welcome  to  the  new-comer. 
As  he  looked  about  him,  he  was  not  particularly 
:*proud  of  the  company  in  which  he  found  himself. 
The  faces  he  recognized  were  those  of  the  laziest 
ind  most  incapable  workmen  in  the  town — men 
whose  weekly  wages  were  habitually  docked  for 
drunkenness,  late  hours,  and  botchy  work.  As  the 
room  gradually  filled,  it  seemed  like  a  roll-call  of 
shirks.  Among  them  came  also  a  spiritual  medium 
named  Bott,  as  yet  imperfectly  developed,  whose 
efforts  at  making  a  living  by  dark  seances  too  fre 
quently  resulted  in  the  laughter  of  skeptics  and  the 
confusion  of  his  friends.  His  forehead  and  cheek 
were  even  then  purple  with  an  aniline  dye,  which 
some  cold-blooded  investigator  had  squirted  in  his 
face  a  few  nights  before  while  he  was  gliding 
through  a  twilight  room  impersonating  the  troubled 
shade  of  Pocahontas.  This  occurrence  gave,  for 
the  moment,  a  peculiarly  sanguinary  and  sinister 
character  to  his  features,  and  filled  his  heart  writh  a 
thirst  for  vengeance  against  an  unbelieving  \voiid. 

After  the  meeting  had  been  called  to  order,  and 
Sam  had  taken  an  oath  of  a  hot  and  lurid  nature,  in 
which  he  renounced  a  good  many  things  he  had 
never  possessed,  and  promised  to  do  a  lot  of  things 
of  which  he  had  no  idea,  Mr.  Offitt  asked," if  any 
brother  had  anything  to  offer  for  the  good  of  the 
order."  This  called  Mr.  Bott  to  his  feet,  and  he 
made  a  speech,  on  which  he  had  been  brooding  all 
day,  against  the  pride  of  so:called  science,  the  arro- 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  83 

gance  of  unrighteous  wealth,  and  the  grovelling  su 
perstition  of  Christianity.  The  light  of  the  kero 
sene  lamp  shone  full  on  the  decorated  side  of  his 
visage,  and  touched  it  to  a  ferocious  purpose.  But 
the  brotherhood  soon  wearied  of  his  oratory,,  in 
which  the  blasphemy  of  thought  and  phrase  was 
strangely  contrasted  with  the  ecclesiastical  whine 
which  he  had  caught  from  the  exhorters  who  were 

O 

the  terror  of  his  youth.  The  brothers  began  to  guy 
him  without  mercy.  They  requested  him  to  "  cheese 
it";  they  assisted  him  with  uncalled-for  and  inap 
propriate  applause,  and  one  of  the  party  got  behind 
him  and  went  through  the  motion  of  turning  a 
hurdy-gurdy.  But  he  persevered-*.  He  had  joined 
the  club  to  practise  public  speaking,  and  he  got  a 
good  half  hour  out  of  the  brothers  before  they 
coughed  him  down. 

When  he  had  brought  his  speech  to  a  close,  and 
sat  down  to  wipe  his  streaming  face,  a  brother  rose 
and  said,  in  a  harsh,  rasping  voice,  "  I  want  to  ask 
a  question." 

"  That's  in  order,  Brother  Bowersox,"  said  Offitt. 

The  man  was  a  powerful  fellow,  six  feet  high. 
His  head  was  not  large,  but  it  was  as  round  as 
an  apple,  with  heavy  cheek-bones,  little  eyes,  close- 
cut  hair,  and  a  mustache  like  the  bristles  of  a, 
blacking-brush.  He  had  been  a  driver  on  a  street-J; 
car,  but  had  recently  been  dismissed  for  insolence 
to  passengers  and  brutality  to  his  horses. 

"  What  I  want  to  ask.  is  this :  I  wa'nt  to  know  if 
we  have  joined  this  order  *to  listen  to  chin-music  the 
rest  of  our  lives,  or  to  do  sometmV.  There  is  some 
kind  of  men  that  kin  talk  tell  day  of  jedgment,  let- 


84  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

tin'  Gabrel  toot  and  then  beginnin'  ag'in.    I  ain't  that 
kind ;  I  j'ined  to  do  somethin'; — what's  to  be  done  ?" 

He  sat  down  with  his  hand  on  his  hip,  squarely 
facing  the  luckless  Bott,  whose  face  grew  as  purple 
as  the  illuminated  side  of  it.  But  he  opened  not 
his  mouth.  Offitt  answered  the  question  : 

"  I  would  state,"  he  said  glibly,  "  the  objects  we 
propose  to  accomplish :  the  downfall  of  the  money 
power,  the  rehabitation  of  labor,  the ' 

"  Oli,  yes  !"  Bowersox  interrupted,  "  I  know  all 
about  that, — but  what  are  we  goin'  to  do  ?" 

Offitt  paled  a  little,  but  did  not  flinch  at  the  sav 
age  tone  of  the  surly  brute.  He  began  again  in  his 
smoothest  manner : 

"I  am  of  the  opinion  that  the  discussion  of  sound 
principles,  such  as  we  have  listened  to  to-night,  is 
among  the  objects  of  our  order.  After  that,  organ 
ization  for  mutual  profit  and  protection  against  the 
minions  of  the  money  power, — for  makin'  our  in 
fluence  felt  in  elections, — for  extendin'  a  helpin' 
hand  to  honest  toil, — for  rousin'  our  bretheren  from 
their  lethargy,  which,  like  a  leaden  pall 

"I  want  to  know,"  growled  Bowersox,  with  sullen 
obstinacy,  "  what's  to  be  done." 

"  Put  your  views  in  the  form  of  a  motion,  that 
they  may  be  properly  considered  by  the  meetin'," 
said  the  imperturbable  president. 

"  Well,  I  motion  that  we  stop  talkin'  and  com 
mence  doin' " 

"  Do  you  suggest  that  a  committee  be  appointed 
f  or  that  purpose  ?" 

"Yes,  anything."  And  the  chairman  appointed 
BowersoXj  Bott,  and  Folgum  such  a  committee. 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  85 

All  breathed  more  freely  and  felt  as  if  something 
practical  and  energetic  had  been  accomplished.  The 
committee  would,  of  course,  never  meet  nor  report, 
but  the  colloquy  and  the  prompt  action  taken  upon 
it  made  every  one  feel  that  the  evening  had  been, 
interesting  and  profitable.  Before  they  broke  up, 
Sleeny  was  asked  for  his  initiation  fee  of  two  dollars, 
and  all  the  brethren  were  dunned  for  their  monthly 
dues. 

""What  becomes  of  this  money?"  the  neophyte 
bluntly  inquired  of  the  hierophant. 

"  It  pays  room  rent  and  lights,"  said  Offitt,  with 
unabashed  front,  as  he  returned  his  greasy  wallet  to 
his  pocket.  "The  rest  goes  for  propagatin'  our 
ideas,  and  especially  for  influencin'  the  press." 

Sleeny  was  a  dull  man,  but  he  made  up  his  mind 
on  the  way  home  that  the  question  which  had  so 
long  puzzled  him — how  Offitt  made  his  living — was 
partly  solved. 


86  THE   BREAD- WINNERS. 

j 

VI. 

TWO    MEN    SHAKE    HANDS. 

SLEENY,  though  a  Bread-winner  in  full  standing, 
was  not  yet  sufficiently  impressed  with  the  wrongs 
of  labor  to  throw  down  his  hammer  and  saw.  lie 
continued  his  work  upon  Farnham's  conservatory, 
under  the  direction  of  Fergus  Ferguson,  the  gar 
dener,  with  the  same  instinctive  fidelity  which  had 
always  characterized  him.  He  had  his  intervals  of 
right  feeling  and  common  sense,  when  he  reflected 
that  Farnham  had  done  him  no  wrong,  and  prob 
ably  intended  no  wrong  to  Maud,  and  that  he  was 
not  answerable  for  the  ill  luck  that  met  him  in  his 
wooing,  for  Maud  had  refused  him  before  she  ever 
saw  Farnham.  But,  once  in  a  while,  and  especially 
when  he  was  in  company  with  Offitt,  an  access  of 
jealous  fury  would  come  upon  him,  w%hich  found 
vent  in  imprecations  which  were  none  the  less  fervid 
for  being  slowly  and  haltingly  uttered.  The  dark- 
skinned,  unwholesome-looking  Bread-winner  found 
a  singular  delight  in  tormenting  the  powerful  young 
fellow.  He  felt  a  spontaneous  hatred  for  him,  for 
many  reasons.  His  shapely  build,  his  curly  blond 
hair  and  beard,  his  frank  blue  eye,  first  attracted  his 
envious  notice ;  his  steady,  contented  industry  ex 
cited  in  him  a  desire  to  pervert  a  workman  whose 
daily  life  was  a  practical  argument  against  the  doc 
trines  of  socialism,  by  which  Offitt  made  a  part  of 


THE   BREAD-WINKERS.  87 

liis  precarious  living ;  and  after  he  had  met  Maud 
Matchin  and  had  felt,  as  such  natures  will,  the  force 
of  her  beauty,  his  instinctive  hate  became  an  active, 
though  secret,  hostility.  She  had  come  one  evening 
with  Sleeny  to  a  spiritualist  conference  frequented 
by  Offitt,  and  he  had  at  once  inferred  that  Sleeny 
and  she  were  either  engaged  to  be  married  or  on  the 
straight  road  toward  it.  It  would  be  a  profanation 
of  the  word  to  say  that  he  loved  her  at  first  sight. 
But  his  scoundrel  heart  was  completely  captivated 
so  far  as  was  possible  to  a  man  of  his  sort.  He  was 
filled  and  fired  with  a  keen  cupidity  of  desire  to 
possess  and  own  such  beauty  and  grace.  He  railed 
against  marriage,  as  he  did  against  religion  and 
order,  as  an  invention  of  priests  and  tyrants  to  en 
slave  and  degrade  mankind ;  but  he  would  gladly 
have  gone  to  any  altar  whatever  in  company  with 
Maud  Matchin.  He  could  hardly  have  said  whether 
he  loved  or  hated  her  the  more.  He  loved  her 
much  as  the  hunter  loves  the  fox  he  is  chasing  to  its 
death.  He  wanted  to  destroy  anything  \v.hich  kept 
her  away  from  him  :  her  lover,  if  she  had  one  ;  her 
pride,  her  modesty,  her  honor,  if  she  were  fancy- 
free.  Aware  of  Sleeny's  good  looks,. if  not  of  his 
own  ugliness,  he  hated  them  both  for  the  comeli 
ness  that  seemed  to  make  them  natural  mates  for 
each  other.  But  it  was  not  in  his  methods  to  pro 
ceed  rashly  with  either.  He  treated  Maud  with 
distant  respect,  and  increased  his  intimacy  with 
Sleeny  until  he  found,  to  his  delight,  that  he  was 
not  the  prosperous  lover  that  he  feared.  But  he 
still  had  apprehensions  that  Sleeny's  assiduity  might 
at  last  prevail,  and  lost  no  opportunity  to  tighten 


88  THE    BREAD-WINNERS. 

the  relations  between  them,  to  poison  and  pervert 
the  man  who  was  still  a  possible  rival.  By  remain 
ing  his  most  intimate  friend,  he  could  best  be  in 
formed  of  all  that  occurred  in  the  Matchin  family. 

One  evening,  as  Sam  was  about  leaving  his  work, 
Fergus  Ferguson  said  : 

"  You'll  not  come  here  the  morn.  You're  wanted 
till  the  house — a  bit  o'  work  in  the  library.  They'll 
be  tellin'  you  there.'* 

This  was  faithfully  reported  by  Sam  to  his  con 
fessor  that  same  night. 

"Well,  you  are  in  luck.  I  wish  I  had  your 
chance,"  said  Offitt. 

Sam  opened  his  blue  eyes  in  mute  wonder. 

"  Well,  what's  the  chance,  and  what  would  you 
do  with  it,  ef  you  "had  it?" 

Offitt  hesitated  a  moment  before  replying. 

"  Oh,  I  was  just  a  jokin'.  I  meant  it  was  such  an 
honor  for  common  folks  like  us  to  git  inside  of  the 
palace  of  a  high-toned  cuss  like  Farnham ;  and  the 
fact  is,  Sammy,"  he  continued,  more  seriously,  "  I 
would  like  to  see  the  inside  of  some  of  these  swell 
places.  I  am  a  student  of  human  nature,  you  know, 
in  its  various  forms.  I  consider  the  lab'rin'  man  as 
the  normal  healthy  human — that  is,  if  he  don't  work 
too  hard.  I  consider  wealth  as  a  kind  of  disease ; 
wealth  and  erristocracy  is  a  kind  of  dropsy.  Now, 
the  true  reformer  is  like  a  doctor, — he  wants  to 
know  all  about  diseases,  by  sight  and  handlin' !  I 
would  like  to  study  the  symptoms  of  erristocracy  in 
Farnham's  house — rigjit  in  the  wards  of  the  hos 
pital." 

"Well,  that  beats  me,"  said  Sam.     "I've  been 


THE    BREAD-WINNERS.  89 

in  a  lot  of  fine  houses  on  Algonquin  Avenue,  and 
I  never  seen  anything  yet  that  favored  a  hos 
pital."  ^ 

This  dense  stupidity  was  almost  more  than  Offitt 
could  bear.  But  a  ready  lie  came  to  his  aid. 

"  Looky  here  !"  he  continued,  "  I'll  tell  you  a 
secret.  I'm  writin'  a  story  for  the  '  Irish  Harp,' 
and  I  want  to  describe  the  residence  of  jess  such  a 
vampire  as  this  here  Farnham.  Now,  writin',  as  I 
do,  in  the  cause  of  humanity,  I  naturally  want  to 
git  my  facts  pretty  near  right.  You  kin  help  me 
in  this.  I'll  call  to-morrow  to  see  you  while  you're 
there,  and  I'll  get  some  p'ints  that'll  make  I^ome 
howl  when  they  come  out." 

Sam  was  hardly  educated  up  to  the  point  his  friend 
imagined.  His  zeal  for  humanity  and  the  "  rehabi- 
tation"  of  labor  was  not  so  great  as  to  make  him 
think  it  a  fine  thing  to  be  a  spy  and  a  sneak  in  the 
houses  of  his  employers.  He  was  embarrassed  by 
the  suggestion,  and  made  no  reply,  but  sat  smoking 
his  pipe  in  silence.  He  had  not  the  diplomatist's 
art  of  putting  a  question  by  with  a  smile.  Ofiitt 
had  tact  enough  to  forbear  insisting  upon  »a  re- 


He  was,  in  fact,  possessed  of  very  considerable 
natural  aptitude  for  political  life.  He  had  a  quick 
smile  and  a  ready  tongue  ;  he  liked  to  talk  and  shake 
hands  ;  he  never  had  an  opinion  he  was  not  willing 
to  sell  ;  he  was  always  prepared  to  sacrifice  a  friend, 
if  required,  and  to  ask  favors  from  his  worst  ene 
mies.  He  called  himself  Andrew  Jackson  Offitt  — 
a  name  which,  in  the  West,  is  an  unconscious  brand. 
It  generally  shows  that  the  person  bearing  it  is  the 


90  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

son  of  illiterate  parents,  with  no  family  pride  or  af- 
•fections,  but  filled  with  a  bitter  and  savage  partisan 
ship  which  found  its  expression  in  a  servile  worship 
of  the  most  injurious  personality  in  American  his 
tory.  But  Offitt's  real  name  was  worse  than  Andrew 
Jackson — it  was  Ananias,  and  it  was  bestowed  in 
this  way :  When  he  was  about  six  years  old,  his  fa 
ther,  a  small  farmer  in  Indiana,  who  had  been  a 
sodden,  swearing,  fighting  drunkard,  became  con 
verted  by  a  combined  attack  of  delirium  tremens 
and  camp-meeting,  and  resolved  to  join  the  church, 
he  and  his  household.  The  morning  they  were 
going  to  the  town  of  Salem  for  that  purpose,  lie 
discovered  that  his  pocket  had  been  picked,  and  the 
money  it  contained  was  found  @  due  perquisition 
in  the  blue  jeans  trousers  of  his  son  Andrew  Jack- 
eon.  The  boy,  on  being  caught,  wras  so  nimble  and 
fertile  in  his  lies  that  the  father,  in  a  gust  of  rage,  de 
clared  that  he  was  not  worthy  the  name  of  the  great 
President,  but  that  he  should  be  called  Ananias; 
and  he  was  accordingly  christened  Ananias  that 
morning  in  the  meeting-house  at  Salem.  As  long 
as  the  old  man  lived,  he  called  him  by  that  dread 
ful  name ;  but  when  a  final  attack  of  the  trembling 
madness  had  borne  him  away  from  earth,  the  widow 
called  the  boy  Andrew  again,  whenever  she  felt 
careless  about  her  spiritual  condition,  and  the  youth 
behaved  himself,  but  used  the  name  of  Sapphira's 
husband  when  the  lad  vexed  her,  or  the  obligations 
of  the  christening  came  strongly  back  to  her  super 
stitious  mind.  The  two  names  became  equally  fa 
miliar  to  young  Offitt,  and  always  afterward  he  was 
liable  to  lapses  of  memory  when  called  on  suddenly 


THE   BREAD-WIHNERS.  91 

to  give  his  prenomen  ;  and  he  frequently  caused 
hateful  merriment  among  his  associates  by  signing 
himself  Ananias.  v 

When  Sam  presented  himself  at  Captain  Farn- 
ham's  house  the  next  morning,  he  was  admitted  by 
Budsey,  who  took  him  to  the  library  and  showed 
him  the  work  he  was  to  do.  The  heat  of  the  room 
had  shrunk  the  wood  of  the  heavy  doors  of  carved 
oak  so  that  the  locks  were  all  out  of  position. 
Farnham  was  seated  by  his  desk,  reading  and  writ 
ing  letters.  He  did  not  look  up  as  Sam  entered, 
and  paid  no  attention  to  the  instructions  Budsey 
was  giving  him.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life,^ 
Sleeny  found  that  this  neglect  of  his  presence  was  I 
vaguely  offensive  to  him.  A  week  before,  he  would  1 
no  more  have  thought  of  speaking  to  Farnham,  or 
being  spoken  to  by  him,  than  of  entering  into  con 
versation  with  one  of  the  busts  on  the  book-cases. 
Even  now  he  had  no  desire  to  talk  with  the  pro 
prietor  of  the  house.  He  had  come  there  to  do  cer 
tain  work  which  he  was  capable  of  doing  well,  and 
he  preferred  to  do  it  and  not  be  bothered  by  irrele 
vant  gossip.  But,  in  spite  of  himself,  he  felt  a 
rising  of  revolt  in  his  heart,  as  he  laid  out  his  tools, 
against  the  quiet  gentleman  who  sat  with  his  back 
to  him,  engaged  in  his  own  work  and  apparently 
unconscious  of  Sleeny's  presence.  A  week  before, 
they  had  been  nothing  to  each  other,  but  now  a 
woman  had  come  between  them,  and  there  is  no 
such  powerful  conductor  in  nature.  The  quiet  in 
which  Farnham  sat  seemed  full  of  insolent  triumph 
to  the  luckless  lover,  and  scraps  of  Offitt's  sounding 
nonsense  went  through  his  mind  :  "  A  man  is  more 


92  THE   BKEAD-WINtfERS. 

than  a  money-bag" ;  "the  laborer  is  the  true  gentle 
man"  ;  but  they  did  not  give  him  much  comfort. 
Not  until  he  became  interested  in  his  work  did  he 
recover  the  even  beat  of  his  pulse  and  the  genuine 
workmanlike  play  of  his  faculties.  Then  he  forgot 
Farnharn's  presence  in  his  turn,  and  enjoyed  himself 
in  a  rational  way  with  his  files  and  chisels  and  screw 
drivers. 

He  had  been  at  work  for  an  hour  at  one  door,  and 
had  finished  it  to  his  satisfaction,  and  sat  down  be 
fore  another,  when  he  heard  the  bell  ring,  and  Bud- 
sey  immediately  afterward  ushered  a  lady  through 
the  hall  and  into  the  drawing-room.  His  heart 
stood  still  at  the  rustle  of  the  dress, — it  sounded  so 
like  Maud's  ;  he  looked  over  his  shoulder  through  the 
open  door  of  the  library  and  saw,  to  his  great  relief, 
that  there  were  two  female  figures  taking  their  seats 
in  the  softly  lighted  room  beyond.  One  sat  with 
her  back  to  the  light,  and  her  features  were  not  dis 
tinctly  visible ;  the  other  was  where  he  could  see 
three-quarters  of  her  face  clearly  relieved  against 
the  tapestry  portiere.  There  is  a  kind  of  beauty 
which  makes  glad  every  human  heart  that  gazes  on 
it,  if  not  utterly  corrupt  and  vile,  and  it  was  such  a 
face  as  this  that  Sam  Sleeny  now  looked  at  with  a 
heart  that  grew  happier  as  he  gazed.  It  was  a 
morning  face,  full  of  the  calm  joy  of  the  dawn,  of 
the  sweet  dreams  of  youth  untroubled  by  love,  the 
face  of  Aurora  before  she  met  Tithonus.  From  the 
little  curls  of  gold  on  the  low  brow  to  the  smile  that 
hovered  forever,  half  formed,  on  the  softly  curving 
lips  and  over  the  rounded  chin,  there  was  a  light  of 
sweetness,  and  goodness,  and  beauty,  to  be  read  of 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  93 

all  men,  and  perhaps  in  God's  good  time  to  be  wor 
shipped  by  one. 

Budsey  announced  "Mrs.  Belding  and  Miss 
Halice,"  and  Farnham  hastened  to  greet  them. 

If  Sam  Sleeny  had  few  happy  hours  to  enjoy,  he 
could  at  least  boast  himself  that  one  was  beginning 
now.  The  lovely  face  bore  to  his  heart  not  only  the 
blessing  of  its  own  beauty,  but  also  a  new  and  in 
finitely  consoling  thought.  He  had  imagined  till 
this  moment,  in  all  seriousness,  that  Maud  Matchin 
was  the  prettiest  woman  in  the  world,  and  that 
therefore  all  men  who  saw  her  were  his  rivals,  the 
chief  of  whom  was  Farnham.  But  now  he  reflected, 
with  a  joyful  surprise,  that  in  this  world  of  rich 
people  there  were  others  equally  beautiful,  and  that 
here,  under  Farnham's  roof,  on  terms  of  familiar 
acquaintance  with  him,  was  a  girl  as  faultless  as  an 
angel, — one  of  his  own  kind.  "Why,  of  course," 
he  said  to  himself,  with  a  candid  and  happy  self- 
contempt,  "  that's  Ms  girl — you  dunderheaded  fool 
— what  are  you  botheyin'  about  ?" 

He  took  a  delight  which  he  could  not  express  in 
listening  to  the  conversation  of  these  friends  and 
neighbors.  The  ladies  had  come  over,  in  pursuance 
of  an  invitation  of  Farnham's,  to  see  the  additions 
which  had  recently  arrived  from  Europe  to  his  col 
lection  of  bronzes  and  pottery,  and  some  little  pic 
tures  he  had  bought  at  the  English  water-color 
exhibition.  As  they  walked  about  the  rooms,  ex 
pressing  their  admiration  of  the  profusion  of  pretty 
things  which  filled  the  cabinets  and  encumbered  the 
tables,  in  words  equally  pretty  and  profuse,  Sleeny 
listened  to  their  voices  as  if  it  were  music  played  to 


94  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

cheer  him  at  his  work.  He  knew  nothing  of  the 
things  they  were  talking  about,  but  their  tones  were 
gentle  and  playful;  the  young  lady's  voice  was 
especially  sweet  and  friendly.  He  had  never  heard 
such  voices  before ;  they  are  exceptional  every 
where  in  America,  and  particularly  in  our  hike 
country,  where  the  late  springs  develop  fine  high 
sopranos,  but  leave  much  to  be  desired  in  the  talk 
ing  tones  of  women.  Alice  Belding  had  been 
taught  to  use  her  fine  voice  as  it  deserved 
and  Cordelia's  intonations  could  not  have  been 
more  "soft,  gentle,  and  low, — an  excellent  thing  in 
woman." 

After  awhile,  the  voices  came  nearer,  and  he 
heard  Farnham  say : 

"Come  in  here  a  moment,  please,  and  see  my 
new  netsukes ;  I  got  them  at  a  funny  little  shop  in 
Ostend.  It  was  on  a  Sunday  afternoon,  and  the  man 
of  the  house  was  keeping  the  shop,  and  I  should 
have  got  a  great  bargain  out  of  him,  but  his  wife 
came  in  before  we  were  through,  and  scolded  him 
for  an  imbecile  and  sent  him  into  the  back  room  to 
tend  the  baby,  and  made  me  pay  twice  what  he  had 
asked  for  my  little  monsters." 

By  this  time  they  were  all  in  the  library,  and  the 
young  lady  was  laughing,  not  loudly,  but  musically, 
and  Mrs.  Belding  was  saying : 

"  Served  you  right  for  shopping  on  Sunday.  But 
they  are  adorable  little  images,  for  all  that." 

"  Yes,"  said  Farnham,  "  so  the  woman  told  me, 
and  she  added  that  they%wrere  authentic  of  the 
twelfth  century.  I  asked  her  if  she  could  not  throw 
off  a  century  or  two  in  consideration  of  the  hard, 


THE   BREAD-WIKKERS.  95 

times,  and  she  laughed,  and  said  I  blagued,  and 
honestly  she  didn't  know  how  old  they  were,  but  it 
was  drole,  tout  de  meme,  qu'on  put  adorer  un  petit 
bon  Dieu  (Tune  laideur  pareille" 

"  Really,  I  don't  see  how  they  can  do  it,"  said 
Mrs.  Belden,  solemnly;  at  which  both  the  others 
laughed,  and  Miss  Alice  said,  "Why,  mamma,  you 
have  just  called  them  adorable  yourself." 

They  went  about  the  room,  admiring,  and  touch 
ing,  and  wondering,  with  the  dainty  grace  of  ladies 
accustomed  to  rare  and  beautiful  things,  until  the 
novelties  were  exhausted  and  they  turned  to  go. 
But  Budsey  at  that  moment  announced  luncheon, 
and  they  yielded  to  Farnham's  eager  importunity, 
and  remained  to  share  his  repast. 

They  went  to  the  dining-room,  leaving  Sleeny 
more  than  content.  He  still  heard  their  voices,  too 
distant  to  distinguish  words  ;  but  he  pleased  himself 
by  believing  that  there  was  a  tender  understanding 
in  the  tones  of  Farnham  and  Miss  Belding  when 
they  addressed  each  other,  and  that  it  was  altogether 
a  family  party.  He  had  no  longer  any  feeling  of 
slight  or  neglect  because  none  of  them  seemed  aware 
of  his  presence  while  they  were  in  the  room  with 
him.  There  was,  on  the. contrary,  a  sort  of  comfort 
in  the  thought  that  he  belonged  to  a  different  world 
from  them ;  that  he  and  Maud  were  shut  out — shut 
out  together — from  the  society  and  the  interests 
which  claimed  the  Beldings  and  the  Farnhams. 
"  You  was  a  dunderheaded  fool,"  he  said,  cheerfully 
apostrophizing  himself  again,  "  to  think  everybody 
was  crazy  after  your  girl." 

He  was  brought  down  to  a  lower  level  by  hearing 


96  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

the  door  open,  and  the  voice  of  Offitt  asking  if  Mr. 
Sleeny  was  in. 

"  No  one  of  that  name  here,"  said  Budsey. 

"  I  was  told  at  Matchin's  he  was  here." 

"  Oh  !  tlie  young  man  from  Matchin's.  He  is  in 
the  library,"  and  Offitt  came  in,  looking  more  dis 
reputable  than  usual,  as  he  had  greased  his  hair  in 
ordinately  for  the  occasion.  Budsey  evidently  re 
garded  him  with  no  favorable  eye ;  he  said  to 
Sleeny, "  This  person  says  he  comes  from  Matchin's ; 
do  you  know  him  ?" 

"  Yes,  it's  all  right,"  said  Sam,  who  could  say 
nothing  less ;  but  when  Budsey  had  left  them,  he 
turned  to  Offitt  with  anything  but  welcome  in  his 
eye. 

"  Well,  you've  come,  after  all." 

"Yes,"  Offitt  answered,  with  an  uneasy  laugh. 
"  Curiosity  gets  us  all,  from  Eve  down.  What  a 
lay-out  this  is,  anyhow,"  and  his  small  eyes  darted 
rapidly  around  the  room.  ^  "  Say,  Sam,  you  know 
Christy  Fore,  that  hauls  for  the  Safe  Company  ? 
He  was  telling  me  about  the  safe  he  put  into  this 
room — said  nobody'd  ever  guess  it  was  a  safe. 
Where  the  devil  is  it  ?" 

"  I  don't  know.  It's  none  of  my  business,  nor 
yours  either." 

"  I  guess  you  got  up  wrong  foot  foremost,  Sam, 

you're  so  cranky.  Where  can  the thing  be  ? 

Three  doors  and  two  winders  and  a  fire-place,  and 
all  the  rest  book-cases.  By  Jinx !  there  it  is,  I'll 
swear."  He  stepped  over  to  one  of  the  cases  where 
a  pair  of  oaken  doors,  rich  with  arabesque  carving, 
veiled  a  sort  of  cabinet.  He  was  fingering  at 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  97 

them  when  Sam  seized  him  by  the  shoulder,  and 
said : 

"  Look  here,  Andy,  what  is  your  game,  anyhow  ? 
I'm  here  on  business,  and  I  ain't  no  fence,  and  I'll 
just  trouble  you  to  leave." 

Offitt's  face  turned  livid.     He  growled : 

"  Of  all  Andylusian  jacks,  you're  the  beat.  I 
ain't  agoin'  to  hurt  you  nor  your  friend  Farnham. 
I've  got  all  the  p'ints  I  want  for  my  story,  and 
devilish  little  thanks  to  you,  neither.  And  say,  tell 
me,  ain't  there  a  back  way  out  ?  I  don't  want  to  go 
by  the  dinin'-room  door.  There's  ladies  there,  and 
I  ain't  dressed  to  see  company.  Why,  yes,  this  fits 
me  like  my  sins,"  and  he  opened  the  French  win 
dow,  and  stepped  lightly  to  the  gravel  walk  below, 
and  was  gone.  *- 

Sleeny  resumed  his  work,  ill  content  with  himself 
and  his  friend.  "Andy  is  a  smart  fellow,"  he 
thought ;  "  but  he  had  no  right  to  come  snoopin' 
around  where  I  was  at  work,  jist  to  get  points  to 
worry  Mr.  Farnham  with." 

The  little  party  in  the  drawing-room  was  breaking 
up.  He  heard  their  pleasant  last  words,  as  the  ladies 
resumed  their  wraps  and  Farnham  accompanied 
them  to  the  door.  Mrs.  Belding  asked  him  to  din 
ner,  "  with  nobody  but  ourselves,"  and  he  accepted 
with  a  pleased  eagerness.  Sleeny  got  one  more 
glimpse  of  the  beautiful  face  under  the  gray  hat  and 
feather,  and  blessed  it  as  it  vanished  out  of  the 
door.  As  Farnham  came  back  to  the  library,  he 
stood  for  a  moment  by  Sam,  and  examined  what  he 
had  done. 

"  That's  a  good  job.  I  like  your  work  on  the 
7 


98  THE   BREAD-WIHtfERS. 

green-house,  too.  I  know  good  work  when  I  see  it. 
I  worked  one  winter  as  a  boss  carpenter  myself." 

It  seemed  to  Sleeny  like  the  voice  of  a  brother 
speaking  to  him.  He  thought  the  presence  of  the 
young  lady  had  made  everything  in  the  house  soft 
and  gentle. 

"  Where  was  you  ever  in  that  business  ?"  he  asked. 

"  In  the  Black  Hills.  I  sawed  a  million  feet  of 
lumber  and  built  houses  for  two  hundred  soldiers. 
I  had  no  carpenters ;  so  I  had  to  make  some.  I 
knew  more  about  it  when  I  got  through  than  when 
I  began." 

Sleeny  laughed — a  cordial  laugh  that  wagged  hie 
golden  beard  and  made  his  white  teeth  glisten. 

"  I'll  bet  you  did  !"  he  replied. 

The  two  men  talked  a  few  minutes  like  old  ac 
quaintances;  then  Sleeny  gathered  up  his  tools  and 
slung  them  over  his  shoulder,  and  as  he  turned  to 
go  both  put  out  their  hands  at  the  same  instant, 
with  an  impulse  that  surprised  each  of  them,  and 
said  "  Good-morning." 


THE  BREAD-WINNERS.  99 


VII. 

GHOSTLY  COUNSEL. 

A  MAN  whose  intelligence  is  so  limited  as  that  of 
Sam  Sleeny  is  always  too  rapid  and  rash  in  his  in 
ferences.  Because  he  had  seen  Farnham  give  Maud 
a  handful  of  roses,  he  was  ready  to  believe  things 
about  their  relations  that  had  filled  him  with  fury  ; 
and  now,  because  he  had  seen  the  same  man  talking 
with  a  beautiful  girl  and  her  mother,  the  conviction 
was  fixed  in  his  mind  that  Farnham's  affections  were 
placed  in  that  direction,  and  that  he  was  therefore 
no  longer  to  be  dreaded  as  a  rival.  He  went  home 
happier,  in  this  belief,  than  he  had  been  for  many 
a  day ;  and  so  prompt  was  his  progress  in  the  work . 
of  deceiving  himself,  that  he  at  once  came  to  the  con-  * 
elusion  that  little  or  nothing  now  stood  between  him 
and  the  crowning  of  his  hopes.  His  happiness  made 
him  unusually  loquacious,  and  at  the  supper-table  he 
excited  the  admiration  of  Matchin  and  the  surprise 
of  Maud  by  his  voluble  history  of  the  events  of«  the 
day.  He  passed  over  Offitt's  visit  in  silence,  know 
ing  that  the  Matchins  detested  him ;  but  he  spoke 
with  energetic  emphasis  of  the  beauty  of  the  house, 
the  handsome  face  and  kindly  manners  of  Farnham, 
and  the  wonderful  beauty  and  sweetness  of  Alice 
JBelding. 

"  Did  that  bold  thing  go  to  call  on  him  alone  ?" 


100  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

cried  Miss  Maud,  thoroughly  aroused  by  this  sup 
posed  offence  against  the  proprieties  of  life. 

"  Why,  no,  Mattie,"  said  Sam,  a  little  disconcerted. 
"Her  ma  was  along." 

"  "Why  didn't  you  say  so,  then  ?"  asked  the  unap- 
peased  beauty. 

"  I  forgot  all  about  the  old  lady,  though  she  was 
more  chinny  than  the  young  one.  She  just  seemed 
like  she  was  a-practisin'  the  mother-in-law,  so  as  to 
do  it  without  stumblin'  when  the  time  come." 

"  Hullo !  Do  you  think  they  are  strikin'  a  match  ?" 
cried  Saul,  in  high  glee.  "  That  would  be  first-rate. 
Keep  the  money  and  the  property  all  together. 
There's  too  many  of  our  rich  girls  marry  in'  out  of 
the  State  lately — keeps  buildin'  dull." 

"  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it,"  Maud  interposed. 
"  He  ain't  a  man  to  be  caught  by  a  simperin'  school 
girl.  And  as  to  money,  he's  got  a  plenty  for  two. 
He  can  please  himself  when  he  marries." 

"  Yes,  but  may  be  he  won't  please  you,  Mattie, 
and  that  would  be  a  pity,"  said  the  ironical  Saul. 

The  old  man  laughed  loudly  at  his  own  sarcasm, 
and  pushed  his  chair  back  from  the  table,  and  Maud 
betook  herself  to  her  own  room,  where  she  sat  down, 
as  her  custom  was,  by  the  window,  looking  over  the 
glowing  lake,  and  striving  to  read  her  destiny  as  she 
gazed  into  the  crimson  and  golden  skies.  She  did 
not  feel  at  all  so  sure  as  she  pretended  that  there  was 
no  danger  of  the  result  that  Sleeny  had  predicted ; 
and  now  that  she  was  brought  face  to  face  with  it, 
she  was  confounded  at  discovering  how  much  it 
meant  to  her.  She  was  carrying  a  dream  in  her 
heart  which  would  make  or  ruin  her,  according  as  it 


THE   BREAD-WLtfNEPS.  101 

should  prove  true  or  false.  She  had  not  thought  of 
herself  as  the  future  wife  of  Farnham  with  any 
clearness  of  hope,  but  she  found  she  could  not  en 
dure  the  thought  of  his  marrying  any  one  else  and 
passing  forever  out  of  her  reach.  She  sat  there, 
bitterly  ruminating,  until  the  evening  glow  had  died 
away  from  the  lake  and  the  night  breeze  spread  its 
viewless  wings  and  flapped  heavily  in  over  the  dark 
ridge  and  the  silent  shore.  Her  thoughts  had  given 
her  no  light  of  consolation  ;  her  chin  rested  on  her 
hands,  her  elbows  on  her  knees ;  her  large  eyes, 
growing  more  luminous  in  the  darkness,  stared  out 
at  the  gathering  night,  scarcely  noting  that  the  sky 
she  gazed  at  had  changed  from  a  pompoiis  scene  of 
red  and  yellow  splendor  to  an  infinite  field  of  tender 
and  dark  violet,  fretted  with  intense  small  stars. 

"  What  shall  I  do  ?"  she  thought.  "  I  am  a  woman. 
My  father  is  poor.  I  have  got  no  chance.  Jurildy 
is  happier  to-day  than  I  am,  and  got  more  sense." 

She  heard  a  timid  rap  at  her  door,  and  asked, 
sharply :  *  , 

"Who's  there?" 

"  It's  me,"  said  Sleeny's  submissive  voice. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?"  she  asked  again,  without 
moving. 

"  Mr.  Bott  give  me  two  tickets  to  his  seance  to 
night," — Sam  called  it  "seeuns," — "and  I  thought 
mebbe  you'd  like  to  go." 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment.  Maud  was 
thinking :  "  At  any  rate  it  will  be  better  than  to  sit 
here  alone  arid  cry  all  the  evening."  So  she  said : 
"  I'll  come  down  in  a  minute."  She  heard  Sam's 
heavy  step  descending  the  stairs,  and  thought  what 


402  THE   ERE  AD-  WINNERS. 

a  different  tread  another  person  had  ;  and  she  won 
dered  whether  she  would  ever  "do  better"  than 
take  Sam  Sleeny;  but  she  at  once  dismissed  the 
thought.  "  I  can't  do  that ;  I  can't  put  my  hand  in 
a  hand  that  smells  so  strong  of  sawdust  as  Sam's. 
But  he  is  a  good  soul,  and  I  am  sorry  for  him,  every 
time  I  look  in  the  glass." 

Looking  in  the  glass,  as  usual,  restored  her  good 
humor,  and  she  started  off  to  the  ghostly  rendezvous 
with  her  faithful  attendant.  They  never  talked 
very  much  when  they  were  alone  together,  and  this 
evening  both  were  thoughtful.  Maud  had  never 
taken  this  commerce  with  ghosts  much  to  heart. 
She  had  a  feeling,  which  she  could  hardly  have  de 
fined,  that  it  was  a  common  and  plebeian  thing  to 
believe  in  it,  and  if  she  ever  heard  it  ridiculed  she 
joined  in  the  cry  without  mercy.  But  it  was  an 
excitement  and  an  interest  in  a  life  so  barren  of  both 
that  she  could  not  afford  to  throw  it  away.  She  had 
not  intelligence  enough  to  be  disgusted  or  shocked 
by  it.  If  pressed  to  explain  the  amount  of  her  faith 
in  the  whole  business,  she  would  probably  have  said 
she  thought  "  there  was  something  in  it,"  and  stopped 
at  that.  In  minds  like  hers,  there  is  no  clearly 
drawn  line  between  the  unusual  and  the  supernatu* 
ral.  An  apparent  miracle  pleased  her  as  it  would 
please  a  child,  without  setting  her  to  find  out  how  it 
was  done.  She  would  consult  a  wizard x  taking  the 
chances  of  his  having  occult  sources  of  information, 
with  the  same  irregular  faith  in  the  unlikely  with 
which  some  ladies  call  in  homoeopathic  practitioners. 

All  the  way  to  the  rooms  of  Bott,  she  was  revolv 
ing  this  thought  in  her  mind :  "  Perhaps  he  could 


THE  BREAD-WINNERS.  103 

tell  me  something  about  Mr.  Farnham.  I  don't  think 
much  of  Bott;  he  has  too  many  knuckles  on  his 
hands.  I  never  saw  a  man  with  so  many  knuckles. 
I  wouldn't  mention  Mr.  Farnham  to  him  to  save  his 
life,  but  I  might  get  something  out  of  him  without 
telling  him  anything.  He  is  certainly  a  very  smart 
man,  and  whether  it's  spirits  or  not,  he  knows  lots 
of  things." 

It  was  in  this  mood  that  she  entered  the  little 
apartment  where  Bott  held  what  he  called  his  "  In- 
termundane  Seances."  The  room  was  small  and 
stuffy.  A  simulacrum  of  a  chest  of  drawers  in  one 
corner  was  really  Bott's  bed,  where  the  seer  reposed 
at  night,  and  which,  tilted  up  against  the  wall  dur 
ing  the  day,  contained  the  rank  bedclothes,  long  in 
nocent  of  the  wash-tub.  There  were  a  dozen  or  so 
of  cane-bottom  chairs,  a  little  table  for  a  lamp,  but 
no  other  furniture.  At  one  side  of  the  room  was  a 
small  closet  without  a  door,  but  with  a  dark  and 
dirty  curtain  hung  before  its  aperture.  Around  it 
was  a  wooden  railing,  breast  high. 

A  boy  with  a  high  forehead,  and  hair  combed  be 
hind  ears  large  and  flaring  like  those  of  a  rabbit,  sat 
by  the  door,  and  took  the  tickets  of  invited  guests 
and  the  half-dollars  of  the  casuals.  The  seer  re 
ceived  everybody  with  a  nerveless  shake  of  a 
clammy  hand,  showed  them  to  seats,  and  exchanged 
a  word  or  two  about  the  weather,  and  the  "  condi 
tions,"  favorable  or  otherwise,  to  spiritual  activity. 
When  he  saw  Maud  and  Sam  his  tallowy  face  flushed, 
in  spots,  with  delight.  He  took*  them  to  the  best 
places  the  room  afforded,  and  stammered  his  pleasure 
that  they  had  come. 


104  THE    BREAD-WINNERS. 

"  Oh !  the  pleasure  is  all  ours,"  said  Maud,  who 
was  always  self-possessed  when  she  saw  men  stam 
mering.  "  It's  a  great  privilege  to  get  so  near  to 
the  truth  as  you  bring  us,  Mr.  Bott." 

The  prophet  had  no  answer  ready;  he  merely 
flushed  agarin  in  spots,  and  some  new  arrivals  called 
him  away. 

The  room  was  now  pretty  well  filled  with  the  un 
mistakable  crowd  which  always  attend  such  meet 
ings.  They  were  mostly  artisans,  of  more  intellect 
ual  ambition  than  their  fellows,  whose  love  of  the 
marvellous  was  not  held  in  control  by  any  educated 
judgment.  They  had  long,  serious  faces,  and  every 
man  of  them  wore  long  hair  and  a  soft  hat..  Their 
women  were  generally  sad,  broken -spirited  drudges, 
to  whom  this  kind  of  show  was  like  an  opera  or  a 
ball.  There  were  two  or  three  shame-faced  believers 
of  the  better  class,  who  scoffed  a  little  but  trembled 
in  secret,  and  a  few  avowed  skeptics,  young  clerks 
on  a  mild  spree,  ready  for  fun  if  any  should  present 
itself. 

Bott  stepped  inside  the  railing  by  the  closet,  and 
placing  his  hands  upon  it,  addressed  the  assembly. 
He  did  not  know  what  peculiar  shape  the  manifes 
tations  of  the  evening  might  take.  They  were  in 
search  of  truth ;  a*ll  truth  was  good.  They  hoped 
for  visitors  from  the  unseen  speers ;  he  could  prom 
ise  nothing.  In  this  very  room  the  spirits  of  the 
departed  had  walked  and  talked  with  their  friends ; 
perhaps  they  might  do  it  again  ;  he  knew  not.  How 
they  mingled  in  the  earth-life,  he  did  not  pretend  to 
say  ;  perhaps  they  materialized  through  the  mejum ; 
perhaps  they  dematerialized  material  from  the  audi- 


THE    BREAD-WINNERS.  105 

ence  which  they  rematerialized  in  visible  forms ;  as 
to  that,  the  opinion  of  another — he  said  with  a  spa 
cious  magnanimity — was  as  good  as  his.  He  would 
now  request  two  of  the  audience  to  step  up  and  tie 
him.  One  of  the  long-haired  ruminant  men  stood 
up,  and  a  young  fellow,  amid  much  nudging  and 
giggling  among  the  scorners,  was  also  forced  from 
his  chair.  They  came  forward,  the  believer  with  a 
business-like  air,  which  showed  practice,  and  the 
young  skeptic  blushing  and  ill  at  ease.  Bott  took 
a  chair  inside  the  curtain,  and  showed  them  how  to 
tie  him.  They  bound  him  hand  and  foot,  the  be 
liever  testified  that  the  binding  was  solid,  and  the 
skeptic  went  to  his  seat,  playfully  stepping  upon  the 
toes  of  his  scoffing  friends.  The  curtain  was  low 
ered,  and  the  lamp  was  turned  down. 

In  a  few  moments,  a  scuffling  sound  was  heard  in 
the  closet,  and  Bott's  coat  came  flying  out  into  the 
room.  The  believer  pulled  back  the  curtain,  and 
Botts  sat  in-  his  chair,  his  shirt  sleeves  gleaming 
white  in  the  dust.  His  coat  was  laid  over  his  shoul 
ders,  and  almost  as  soon  as  the  curtain  was  lowered 
he  yelled  for  light,  and  was  disclosed  sitting  tied  as 
before,  clothed  in  his  right  coat. 

Again  the,  curtain  went  down  amid  a  sigh  of  satis 
faction  from  the  admiring  audience,  and  a  choking 
voice,  which  tried  hard  not  to  sound  like  Bott's, 
cried  out  from  the  closet :  "  Turn  down  the  light ; 
we  want  more 'power."  The  kerosene  lamp  was 
screwed  down  till  hardly  a  spark  illumined  the 
visible  darkness>and  suddenly  a  fiery  hand  appeared 
at  the  aperture  of  the  closet,  slowly  opening  and 
shutting  its  long  fingers. 


106  THE   BREAD-WItftfERS. 

A  half  dozen  voices  murmured  :  "  A  spirit  hand"; 
but  Sam  Sleeny  whispered  to  Maud :  "  Them  are 
Bott's  knuckles,  for  coin."  The  hand  was  with 
drawn  and  a  horrible  face  took  its  place — a  pallid 
corpse-like  mask,  with  lambent  fire  sporting  on  the 
narrow  forehead  and  the  high  cheek-bones.  It  stayed 
only  an  instant,  but  Sam  said,  "  That's  the  way  Bott 
will  look  in " 

"  Hush !"  said  Maud,  who  was  growing  too  nerv 
ous  to  smile,  for  fear  of  laughing  or  crying. 

A  sound  of  sobbing  came  from  a  seat  to  the  right 
of  them.  A  poor  woman  had  recognized  the  face  as 
that  of  her  husband,  who  had  died  in  the  army,  and 
she  was  drawing  the  most  baleful  inferences  from 
its  fiery  adjuncts. 

A  moment  later,  Bott  came  out  of  the  closet, 
crouching  so  low  that  his  head  was  hardly  two  feet 
from  the  ground.  He  had  a  sheet  around  his  neck, 
covering  his  whole  person,  and  a  white  cap  over  his 
head,  concealing  most  of  his  face.  In  this  con 
strained  attitude  he  hopped  about  the  clear  space 
in  front  of  the  audience  with  a  good  deal  of  dex 
terity,  talking  baby-talk  in  a  shrill  falsetto.  "  How 
dy,  pappa !  Howdy,  mamma !  Itty  Tudie  turn 
adin !" 

A  rough  man  and  woman,  between  joy  and  grief, 
were  half  hysterical.  They  talked  to  the  toad-like 
mountebank  in  the  most  endearing  tones,  evidently 
believing  it  was  their  dead  baby  toddling  before  them. 
Two  or  three  times  the  same  horrible  imposture 
was  repeated.  Bott  never  made  his  appearance  with 
out  somebody  recognizing  him  as  a  dear  departed 
friend.  The  glimmoring  light,  the  unwholesome 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  107 

excitement,  the  servile  credulity  fixed  by  long  habit, 
seemed  to  produce  a  sort  of  passing  dementia  upon 
the  regular  habitues. 

With  these  performances  the  first  part  came  to  an 
end.  The  light  was  turned  on  again,  and  the  tying 
committee  was  requested  to  come  forward  and  ex 
amine  the  cords  with  which  Bott  still  seemed  tightly 
bound.  The  skeptic  remained  scornfully  in  his  seat, 
and  so  it  was  left  for  the  believer  to  announce  that 
not  a  cord  had  been  touched.  He  then  untied  Bott, 
who  came  out  from  the  closet,  stretching  his  limbs 
as  if  glad  to  be  free,  and  announced  that  there 
would  be  a  short  intermission  for  an  interchange  of 
views. 

As  he  came  toward  Maud,  Sam  rose  and  said  : 

"  Whew  !  he  smells  like  a  damp  match.  I'll  go 
out  and  smoke  a  minute,  and  corne  back." 

Bott  dropped  into  the  seat  which  Sleeny  had  left. 

To  one  who  has  never  attended  one  of  these  queer 
cenacula,  it  would  be  hard  to  comprehend  the  un 
healthy  and  even  nauseous  character  of  the  feeling 
and  the  conversation  there  prevalent.  The  usual 
decent  restraints  upon  social  intercourse  seem  re 
moved.  Subjects  which  the  common  consent  of 
civilized  creatures  has  banished  from  mixed  society 
are  freely  opened  an4  discussed.  To  people  like 
the  ordinary  run  of  the  believers  in  spiritism, 
the  opera,  the  ballet,  and  the  annual  Zola  are  un 
known,  and  they  must  take  their  excitements  where 
they  can  find  them.  The  dim  light,  the  unhealthy 
commerce  of  fictitious  ghosts,  the  unreality  of  act 
and  sentiment,  the  unwonted  abandon,  form  an 
atmosphere  in  which  these  second-hand  mystics  float 


108  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

away  into  a  sphere  where  the  morals  and  the  manners 
are  altogether  different  from  those  of  their  working 
days. 

Miss  Matchin  had  not  usually  joined  in  these 
morbid  discussions.  She  was  of  too  healthy  an 
organization  to  be  tempted  by  so  rank  a  mental 
feast  as  that,  and  she  had  a  sort  of  fierce  maiden 
hood  about  her  which  revolted  at  such  exposures  of 
her  own  thought.  But  to-night  she  was  sorely  per 
plexed.  She  had  been  tormented  by  many  fancies 
as  she  looked  out  of  her  window  into  the  deepening 
shadows  that  covered  the  lake.  The  wonders  she 
had  seen  in  that  room,  though  she  did  not  receive 
them  with  entire  faith,  had  somewhat  shaken  her 
nerves ;  and  now  the  seer  sat  beside  her,  his  pale 
eyes  shining  with  his  own  audacity,  his  lank  hair 
dripping  with  sweat,  his  hands  uneasily  rubbing 
together,  his  whole  attitude  expressive  of  perfect 
subjection  to  her  will. 

"  Why  isn't  this  a  good  chance  ?"  she  thought.  ' 
"  He  is  certainly  a  smart  man.     Horrid  as  he  looks, 
he  knows  lots.      May  be  he  could  tell  me  how  to 
find  out." 

She  began  in  her  airiest  manner :  "  Oh,  Mr.  Bott, 
what  a  wonderful  gift  you  have  got!  How  you 
must  look  down  on  us  poor  mortals  1" 

Bott  grew  spotted,  and  stammered : 

"Far  from  it,  Miss  Matchin.  I  couldn't  look 
down  on  you." 

"Oh,  you  are  flattering.  That's  not  right,  be 
cause  I  believe  every  word  you  say — and  that  ain't 
true." 

She  rattled  recklessly  on  in  the  same  light  tone. 


THE   BREAD-WITHERS.  109 

"  I'm  going  to  ask  you  something  very  particular. 
I  don't  know  who  can  tell  me,  if  you  can't.  How 
can  a  young  lady  find  out  whether  a  young  gentle 
man  is  in  love  with  her  or  not  ?  Now,  tell  me  the 
truth  this  time,"  she  said  with  a  nervous  titter, 
"  for  it's  very  important." 

This  question  from  any  one  else  would  not  have 
disconcerted  Bott  in  the  least.  Queries  as  absurd 
had  frequently  been  put  to  him  in  perfect  good 
faith,  and  answered  with  ready  and  impudent  igno 
rance.  But,  at  those  giggling  words  of  Maud  Mat- 
chin,  he  turned  livid  and  purple,  and  his  breath  came 
heavily.  There  was  room  for  but  one  thought  in 
that  narrow  heart  and  brain.  He  had  long  cherished 
a  rather  cowardly  fondness  for  Maud,  and  now  that 
this  question  was  put  to  him  by  the  agitated  girl,  his 
vanity  would  not  suffer  him  to  imagine  that  any  one 
but  himself  was  the  subject  of  her  dreams.  There  was, 
to  him,  nothing  especially  out  of  the  way  in  this  sort 
of  indirect  proposal  on  the  part  of  a  young  woman. 
It  was  entirely  in  keeping  with  the  general  tone  of 
sentiment  among  the  people  of  his  circle,  which, 
aimed  at  nothing  less  than  the  emancipation  of  the 
world  from  its  old-fashioned  decencies. 

But  he  would  not  answer  hastily ;  he  had  a  cow 
ard's  caution.  He  looked  a  moment  at  ttye  girl's 
brilliant  color,  her  quick,  high  breathing,  her  eager 
eyes,  ,with  a  gloating  sense  of  his  good  luck.  But 
he  wanted  her  thoroughly  committed.  So  he  said, 
with  an  air  in  which  there  was  already  something 
offensively  protecting : 

"  Well,  Miss  Matchin,  that  depends  on  the  speer. 
If  the  affection  be  unilateral,  it  is  one  thing ;  if  it 


110  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

be  recippereal,  it  is  another.  The  currents  of  soul 
works  in  different  ways." 

"  But  what  I  mean  is,  if  a  young  lady  likes  a  young 
gentleman  pretty  well,  how  is  she  going  to  find  out 
for  sure  whether  he  likes  her  ?"  She  went  intrepidly 
through  these  words,  though  her  cheeks  were  burn 
ing,  and  her  eyes  would  fall  in  spite  of  her,  and  her 
head  was  singing. 

There  was  no  longer  any  doubt  in  Bott's  mind. 
He  was  filled  with  an  insolent  triumph,  and  thought 
only  of  delaying  as  long  as  possible  the  love  chase 
of  which  he  imagined  himself  the  object.  He  said, 
slowly  and  severely : 

"  The  question  is  too  imperious  to  be  answered  in 
haste.  I  will  put  myself  in  the  hands  of  the  sper- 
ruts,  and  answer  it  as  they  choose  after  the  inter 
mission." 

He  rose  and  bowe.d,  and  went  to  speak  a  word  or 
two  to  his  other  visitors.  Sam  came  back  and  took 
his  seat  by  Maud,  and  said  : 

"  I  think  the  fun  is  about  over.      Less  go  home." 

"  Go  home  yourself,  if  you  want  to,"  was  the 
petulant  reply.  "  I  am  going  to  stay  for  the  inspi 
rational  discourse." 

"  Oh,  my  !"  said  Sam.  "  That's  a  beautiful  word. 
You  don't  know  how  pretty  your  mouth  looks 
when  you  say  that'."  Sam  had  had  his  beer,  and 
was  brave  and  good-natured. 

Bott  retired  once  more  behind  the  railing,  but 
took  his  seat  in  a  chair  outside  the  curtain,  in  full 
view  of  the  audience.  He  sat  for  some  minutes 
motionless,  staring  at  vacancy.  He  then  slowly 
closed  his  eyes,  and  a  convulsive  shudder  ran 


THE   BREAD-WINDERS.  Ill 

through  his  frame.  This  was  repeated  at  rapid 
intervals,  with  more  or  less  violence.  He  next 
passed  his  hands  alternately  over  his  forehead,  as  if 
he  were  wiping  it,  and  throwing  some  invisible, 
sticky  substance,  with  a  vicious  snap,  to  right  and 
left.  At  last,  after  a  final  shudder,  which  stiffened 
him  into  the  image  of  death  for  a  moment,  he  rose 
to  his  feet  and,  leaning  on  the  railing,  began  to  in 
tone,  in  a  dismal  whine,  a  speech  of  which  we  need 
give  only  the  opening  words. 

"  Dear  brothers  and  sisters  of  the  earth-life !  On 
pearly  wings  of  gossamer- down  we  float  down  from 
our  shining  speers  to  bring  you  messages  of  the 
higher  life.  Let  your  earth-soul  be  lifted  to  meet 
our  sperrut-soul ;  let  your  earth- heart  blend  in  sweet 
accordion  with  our  heaveii-hoart ;  that  the  beautiful 
and  the  true  in  this  weary  earth-life  may  receive 
the  bammy  influence  of  the  Eden  flowrets,  and  rise, 
through  speers  of  disclosure,  to  the  plane  where  all 
is  beautiful  and  all  is  true." 

He  continued  in  this  strain  for  some  time,  to  the 
evident  edification  «of  his  audience,  who  listened 
with  the  same  conventional  tolerance,  the  same  trust 
that  it  is  doing  your  neighbor  good,  with  which  the 
ordinary  audience  sits  under  an  ordinary  sermon. 
Maud,  having  a  special  reason  for  being  alert,  lis 
tened  with  a  real  interest.  But  during  his  speech 
proper  he  made  no  allusion  to  the  subject  on  which 
she  had  asked  for  light.  It  was  after  he  had 
finished  his  harangue,  and  had  gone  through  an 
entr'acte  of  sighs  and  shudders,  that  he  announced 
himself  once  more  in  the  hands  of  the  higher  intel 
ligences,  and  ready  to  answer  questions.  "  It  does  not 


112  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

need,"  he  whined,  "  the  word  of  the  mouth  or  the 
speech  of  the  tongue  to  tell  the  sperruts  what  your 
souls  desire.  The  burden  of  your  soul  is  open  to 
the  sperrut-eye.  There  sits  in  this  room  a  pure  and 
lovely  soul  in  quest  of  light.  Its  query  is,  How 
does  heart  meet  heart  in  mutual  knowledge  ?" 

Maud's  cheek  grew  pale  and  then  red,  and  her 
heart  beat  violently.  But  no  one  noticed  her,  and 
the  seer  went  on.  "If  a  true  heart  longs  for  an 
other,  there  is  no  rest  but  in  knowledge,  there  is  no 
knowledge  but  in  trewth,  there  is  no  trewth  but  in 
trust.  Oh,  my  brother,  if  you  love  a  female,  tell 
your  love.  Oh,  my  sister,  if  you  love — hum — if 
you  love — hum — an  individual  of  the  opposite  sex 
— oh,  tell  your  love!  Down  with  the  shams  of  a 
false-hearted  society ;  down  with  the  chains  of 
silence  that  crushes  your  soul  to  the  dust !  If  the 
object  of  your  hearts'  throbs  is  noble,  he  will  re 
spond.  Love  claims  love.  Love  has  a  right  to 
love.  If  he  is  base,  go  to  a  worthier  one.  But 
from  your  brave  and  fiery  heart  a  light  will  kindle 
his,  and  dual  flames  will  wrap  two  chosen  natures 
in  high-menial  melodies,  when  once  the  revelating 
word  is  spoke." 

With  these  words  he  subsided  into  a  deep  trance, 
which  lasted  till  tlie  faithful  grew  tired  of  waiting, 
and  shuffled  slowly  out  of  the  door.  When  the  last 
guest  had  gone,  he  rose  frorn  his  chair,  with  no 
pretence  of  spiritual  dignity,  and  counted  his  money 
and  his  tickets.  He  stretched  himself  in  two  chairs, 
drew  his  fingers  admiringly  through  his  lank  locks, 
while  a  fatuous  grin  of  perfect  content  spread  over 
his  face,  as  he  said  aloud  -to  himself,  "  She  has  got 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  113 

it  bad.  I  wonder  whether  she  will  have  the  nerve 
to  ask  me.  I'll  wait  awhile,  anjhow.  I'll  lose 
nothing  by  waiting." 

Meanwhile,  Maud  was  walking  rapidly  home  with 
Sam.  She  was  excited  and  perplexed,  and  did  not 
care  to  answer  Sam's  rather  heavy  pleasantries  over 
the  evening's  performance.  He  ridiculed  the  spirit- 
lights,  the  voices,  and  the  jugglery,  without  provok 
ing  a  reply,  and  at  last  he  said  : 

"  Well,  what  do  you  think  of  his  advising  the 
girls  to  pop  ?  This  ain't  leap  year !" 

"What  of  that?"  she  *  answered,  hastily.  "I 
don't  see  why  a  girl  hasn't  as  good  a  right  to  speak 
her  mind  as  a  man." 

"Why,  Mattie,"  said  Sam,  with  slow  surprise, 
"  no  decent  girl  would  do  that." 

They  had  come  to  Matchin's  gate.  She  slipped 
in,  then  turned  and  said : 

"  Well,  don't  be  frightened,  Mr.  Sleeny ;  I'm  not 
going  to  propose  to  you,"  and  she  was  gone  from 
his  sight. 

/  She  went  directly  to  her  room,  and  walked  up  and 
down  a  few  moments  without  taking  off  her  hat, 
moving  with  the  easy  grace  and  the  suppressed  pas 
sion  of  an  imprisoned  panther.  Then  she  lighted 
her  lamp  and. placed  it  on  her  bureau  at  one  side  of 
her  glass.  She  searched  in  her  closet  and  found  a 
candle,  which  she  lighted  and  placed  on  the  other 
side  of  the  glass.  She  undressed  with  reckless 
haste,  throwing  her  clothes  about  on  the  floor,  and 
sat  down  before  her  mirror  with  bare  arms  and 
shoulders,  and  nervously  loosened  her  hair,  watch 
ing  every  movement  wTith  blazing  eyes.  The  thick 
8 


114  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

masses  of  her  blue-black  curls  fell  down  her  back 
and  over  her  sloping  shoulders,  which  glowed  with 
the  creamy  light  of  old  ivory.  The  unequal  rays 
of  the  lamp  and  candle  made  singular  effects  of 
shadow  on  the  handsome  face,  the  floating  hair,  and 
the  strong  and  wholesome  color  of  her  neck  and 
arms.  She  gazed  at  herself  with  eager  eyes  and 
parted  lips,  in  an  anxiety  too  great  to  be  assuaged 
by  her  girlish  pride  in  her  own  beauty.  "  This  is 
all  very  well,"  she  said,  "  but  he  will  not  see  me 
this  way.  Oh !  if  I  only  dared  to  speak  first.  I 
wonder  if  it  would  be  as  the  spirits  said.  <  If  he  is 
noble  he  will  respond  ! '  He  is  noble,  that's  sure. 
4  Love  claims  love,'  they  said.  But  I  don't  know 
as  I  love  him.  I  would,  if  that  would  fetch  him, 
quick  enough ;"  and  theJiot  blood  came  surging  up} 
covering  neck  and  brow  with  crimson. 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  115 

VIII. 
A  BUD  AND  A  BLOSSOM. 

FAKNHAM  was  sitting  the  next  evening  in  his  li 
brary,  when  Budsey  entered  and  said  Mr.  Ferguson 
desired  to  see  him.  The  gaunt  Scotchman  came  in 
and  said  with  feverish  haste :  "  The  cereus  grandi- 
florus  will  be  goin'  to  bloom  the  night.  The  buds 
are  tremblin'  and  laborin?  now."  Farnham  put  on 
his  hat  and  went  to  the  conservatory,  which  was 
separated  from  the  house  by  the  entire  extent  of  the 
garden.  Arriving  there,  the  gardener  took  him  hur 
riedly  to  an  inner  room,  dimly  lighted, — a  small 
square  piece  between  the  ferns  and  the  grapes, — • 
where  the  regal  flower  had  a  wall  to  itself.  Two 
or  three  garden  chairs  were  disposed  about  the 
room.  Ferguson  mounted,  on  one  of  them,  and 
turned  up  the  gas  so  that  its  full  light  shone  upon 
the  plant.  The  bud  was  a  very  large  one,  perfect 
and  symmetrical ;  the  strong  sheath,  of  a  rich  and 
even  brown,  as  yet  showed  only  a  few  fissures  of  its 
surface,  but  even  now  a  faint  odor  stole  from  the 
travailing  sphere,  as  from  a  cracked  box  of  alabaster 
filled  with  perfume. 

The  face  of  the  canny  Fergus  was  lighted  up  with 
an  eager  joy.  He  had  watched  the  growth  and 
progress  of  this  plant  from  its  infancy.  He  had 
leaned  above  its  cradle  and  taken  pride  in  its  size 
and  beauty.  He  had  trained  it  over  the  wall — from 


116  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

which  he  had  banished  every  rival — in  large  and 
graceful  curves,  reaching  from  the  door  of  the  fern 
ery  to  the  door  of  the  grapery,  till  it  looked,  in  the 
usual  half  light  of  the  dim  chamber,  like  a  well-regu 
lated  serpent  maturing  its  designs  upon  the  neigh 
boring  paradise  ;  and  now  the  time  was  come  when 
he  was  to  see  the  fruit  of  his  patience  and  his  care. 

"Heaven  be  thankit,"  he  murmured  devoutly, 
"  that  I  was  to  the  fore  when  it  came." 

"  I  thank  you,  Fergus,  for  calling  me,"  said  Farn- 
ham,  smiling.  "  I  know  it  must  have  cost  you  an 
effort  to  divide  such  a  sight  with  any  one." 

"It's  your  siller  bought  it,"  the  Scotchman  an 
swered  sturdily ;  "  but  there's  nobody  knows  it,  or 
cares  for  it,  as  I  do, — and  that's  the  truth." 

His  glance  was  fixed  upon  the  bud,  which  seemed 
to  throb  and  stir  as  he  spoke.  The  soft  explosive 
force  within  was  at  work  so  strongly  that  the  eye 
could  watch  its  operation.  The  fissures  of  the 
sheath  widened  visibly  and  turned  white  as  the  two 
men  looked  at  them. 

"  It  is  a  shame  to  watch  this  beautiful  thing  hap 
pening  for  only  us,"  Farnham  said  to  the  gardener. 
"  Go  and  tell  Mrs.  Belding,  with  my  compliments, 
and  ask  her  and  Miss  Belding  to  come  down."  But 
observing  his  crestfallen  expression,  he  took  com 
passion  on  him  and  said :  "  No,  you  had  better  re 
main,  for  fear  something  should  happen  in  your 
absence.  I  will  go  for  the  ladies." 

"  I  hope  ye'll  not  miss  it,"  said  Fergus,  but  his 
eyes  and  his  heart  were  fixed  upon  the  bud,  which 
was  slowly  gaping  apart,  showing  a  faint  tinge  of 
gold  in  its  heart. 


THE   BREAD-WINKERS.  117 

Farnham  walked  rapidly  up  the  garden,  and  found 
the  Beldings  at  the  door,  starting  for  evening  ser 
vice  with  their  prayer-books  in  their  hands. 

"  Do  you  wish  to  see  the  prettiest  thing  you  ever 
saw  in  your  lives  ?  of  course  I  except  your  mirrors 
when  in  action,"  he  began,  without  salutation.  "  If 
so,  come  this  moment  to  my  conservatory.  My 
night-blooming  cereus  has  her  coming-out  party  to 
night." 

They  both  exclaimed  with  delight,  and  were 
walking  with  him  toward  the  garden.  Suddenly, 
Mrs.  Belding  stopped  and  said  : 

"  Alice,  run  and  get  your  sketch-book  and  pencil. 
It  will  be  lovely  to  draw  the  flower." 

"  Why,  mamma !  we  shall  not  have  time  for  a 
sketch."' 

"  There,  there !  do  as  I  tell  you,  and  do  not  waste 
time  in  disputing." 

The  young  girl  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then, 
with  instinctive  obedience,  went  off  to  fetch  the 
drawing  materials,  while  her  mother  said  jto  Farn 
ham : 

"  Madame  de  Yeaudrey  says  Alice  is  very  clever 
with  her  pencil ;  but  she  is  so  modest  I  shall  have 
to  be  severe  with  her  to  make  her  do  anything. 
She  takes  after  me.  I  was  very  clever  in  my  les 
sons,  but  never  would  admit  it." 

Alice  came  down  the  steps.  Farnham,  seeing 
her  encumbered  by  her  books,  took  them  from  her, 
and  they  went  down  the  walks  to  the  conserva 
tory.  They  found  Ferguson  sitting,  with  the  same 
rapt  observation,  before  his  tropical  darling,  A.s 
the  ladies  entered,  he  rose  to  give  them  seats,  and 


118  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

then  retired  to  the  most  distant  corner  of  the  room, 
where  he  spent  the  rest  of  the  evening  entirely  un 
aware  of  any  one's  presence,  and  given  up  to  the 
delight  of  his  eyes.  The  bud  was  so  far  opened 
that  the  creamy  white  of  the  petals  could  be  seen 
within  the  riven  sheath,  whose  strong  dark  color  ex 
quisitely  relieved  the  pallid  beauty  it  had  guarded 
so  long.  The  silky  stamens  were  still  curled  about 
the  central  style,  but  the  splendor  of  color  which 
was  coming  was  already  suggested,  and  a  breath  of 
intoxicating  fragrance  stole  from  the  heart  of  the 
immaculate  flower. 

They  spoke  to  each  other  in  low  tones,  as  if  im- 
pressed  with  a  sort  of  awe  at  the  beautiful  and  mys 
terious  development  of  fragrant  and  lovely  life  going 
forward  under  their  sight.  The  dark  eyes  of  Alice 
Belding  were  full  of  that  vivid  happiness  which 
strange  and  charming  things  bring  to  intelligent 
girlhood.  She  was  looking  with  all  her  soul,  and 
her  breath  was  quick  and  high,  and  her  soft  red  lips 
were  parted  and  tremulous.  Farnham  looked  from 
her  to  the  flower,  and  back  again,  gazing  on  both 
with  equal  safety,  for  the  one  was  as  unconscious  of 
his  admiring  glances  as  the  other. 

Suddenly,  the  sound  of  bells  floated  in  from  the 
neighboring  street,  and  both  of  the  ladies  started. 
"  No,  don't  you  go,"  said  Mrs.  Belding  to  her 
daughter.  "  I  must,  because  I  have  to  see  my 
'  Rescue  the  Perishing.'  But  you  can  just  as  well 
stay  here  and  make  your  sketch.  Mr.  Farnham  can 
take  care  of  you,  and  I  will  be  back  in  an  hour." 

"  But,  mamma ! "  cried  Miss  Alice,  too  much  scan 
dalized  to  speak  another  word. 


THE   BKEAD-WIKNERS.  119 

"  I  won't  have  you  lose  this  chance,"  her  mother 
continued.  "  I  am  sure  Mr.  Farnham  will  not  object 
to  taking  care  of  you  a  little  while  ;  and  if  he  hasn't 
the  time,  Fergus  will  bring  you  home — hm,  Fer 
gus  ?" 

"  Ay,  madam,  with  right  guid  will,"  the  gardener 
said,  his  hard  face  softening  into  a  smile. 

"  There,  sit  down  in  that  chair  and  begin  your 
sketch.  It  is  lovely  just  as  it  is."  She  waited  un 
til  Alice,  whose  confusion  had  turned  her  face  crim 
son,  had  taken  her  seat,  opened  her  sketch-book,  and 
taken  her  pencils  in  her  trembling  hands,  and  then 
the  brisk  and  hearty  woman  drew  her  shawl  about 
her  and  bustled  to  the  door. 

"  I  will  walk  to  the  church  door  with  you,"  said 
Farnham,  to  the  infinite  relief  of  Alice,  who  re 
gained  her  composure  at  the  instant,  and  began  with 
interest  to  sketch  the  flower.  She  thought,  while 
her  busy  fingers  were  at  work,  that  she  had  perhaps 
been  too  prudish  in  objecting  to  her  mother's  plan. 
"  He  evidently  thinks  nothing  of  it,  and  why  should 
I?" 

By  the  time  Farnham  returned,  the  cereus  had 
attained  its  full  glory  of  bloom.  Its  vast  petals  were 
thrown  back  to  their  fullest  extent,  and  shone  with 
a  luminous  beauty  in  which  its  very  perfume  seemed 
visible  ;  the  countless  recurved  stamens  shot  forth 
with  the  vigorous  impulse  and  vitality  of  sun  rays  ; 
from  the  glowing  centre  to  the  dark  fringe  with 
which  the  shattered  sheath  still  accented  its  radiant* 
outline  it  blazed  forth,  fully  revealed  ;  and  its  sweet 
breath  seemed  the  voice  of  a  pride  and  conscious 
ness  of  beauty  like  that  of  the  goddess  on  Mount 


120  THE   BREAD-WINKERS. 

Ida,  calmly  triumphant  in  the  certainty  of  perfect 
loveliness. 

Alice  had  grown  interested  in  her  task,  and 
looked  up  for  only  an  instant  with  her  frank,  clear 
eyes  as  Farnham  entered.  "  Now,  where  shall  I 
sit  ?"  he  asked.  "  Here,  behind  your  right  elbow, 
where  I  can  look  over  your  shoulder  and  observe 
the  work  as  it  goes  on  ?" 

4 '  By  no  means.  My  hand  would  lose  all  its  little 
cunning  in  that  case." 

"  Then  I  will  sit  in  front  of  you  and  study  the 
artistic  emotions  in  your  face." 

"  That  would  be  still  worse,  for  you  would  hide 
my  subject.  I  am  sure  you  are  very  well  as  you 
are,"  she  added,  as  he  seated  himself  in  a  chair  be 
side  her,  a  little  way  off. 

"  Yes,  that  is  very  well.  I  have  the  flower  three- 
quarters  and  you  in  profile.  I  will  study  the  one 
for  a  panel  and  the  other  for  a  medal." 

Miss  Alice  laughed  gently.  She  laughed  often 
from  sheer  good  humor,  answering  the  intention  of 
what  was  said  to  her  better  than  by  words. 

"  Can  you  sketch  and  talk  too  ?"  asked  Farnham. 

"  I  can  sketch  and  listen,"  she  said.  "  You  will 
talk  and  keep  me  amused." 

"  Amusement  with  malice  aforethought !  The 
order  affects  my  spirits  like  a  Dead  March.  How 
do  the  young  men  amuse  young  ladies  nowadays  ? 
Do  they  begin  by  saying,  '  Have  you  been  very 
gay  lately  ? '  " 

Again  Miss  Alice  laughed.  "  She  is  an  easy- 
laughing  girl,"  thought  Farnham.  "  I  like  easy- 
laughing  girls.  When  she  laughs,  she  always 


THE   BREAD- WINKERS.  121 

blushes  a  very  little.  It  is  worth  while  talking 
nonsense  to  see  a  girl  laugh  so  pleasantly  and  blush 
so  prettily." 

It  is  not  worth  while,  however,  to  repeat  all  the 
nonsense  Farnham  uttered  in  the  next  hour.  He 
got  very  much  interested  in  it  himself,  and  was  so 
eager  sometimes  to  be  amusing  that  he  grew  earnest, 
and  the  gentle  laugh  would  cease  and  the  pretty  lips 
would  come  gravely  together.  Whenever  he  saw 
this  he  would  fall  back  upon  his  trifling  again.  He 
had  the  soldier's  fault  of  point-blank  compliment, 
but  with  it  an  open  sincerity  of  manner  which  re 
lieved  his  flattery  of  any  offe/isiveness.  He  had 
practised  it  in  several  capitals  with  some  success. 
A  dozen  times  this  evening,  a  neat  compliment  came 
to  his  lips  and  stopped  there.  He  could  hardly  un 
derstand  his  own  reserve  before  this  laughing  young 
lady.  "Why  should  he  not  say  something  pretty 
about  her  hair  and  eyes,  about  her  graceful  attitude, 
about  the  nimble  play  of  her  white  fingers  over  the 
paper  ?  He  had  uttered  frank  flatteries  to  peeresses 
without  rebuke.  But  he  held  his  hand  before  this 
school-girl,  with  the  open  dark-brown  eyes  and  a 
club  of  yellow  hair  at  the  back  of  her  neck.  He 
could  not  help  feeling  that,  if  he  talked  to  her  with 
any  forcing  of  the  personal  accent,  she  would  stop 
laughing  and  the  clear  eyes  would  be  troubled.  He 
desired  anything  rather  than  that,  and  so  the  con 
versation  went  rattling  on  as  free  from  personalities 
as  the  talk  of  two  light-hearted  and  clever  school 
boys. 

At  one  moment  he  was  describing  a  bill  of  fare 
in  a  Colorado  hotel. 


122  THE   BREAD- WINKERS. 

"With  nice  bread,  though,  one  can  always  get 
on,"  she  said. 

"  True,"  Farnham  answered  ;  "  but  this  bread 
was  of  a  ghostly  pallor  and  flatness,  as  if  it  had  been 
baked  by  moonlight  on  a  grave-stone." 

"  The  Indian  women  cook  well,  do  they  not  ?" 
she  asked. 

"  Some  are  not  so  bad  as  others.  One  young 
chief  boasted  to  me  of  his  wife's  culinary  accom 
plishments.  He  had  been  bragging  all  the  morn 
ing  about  his  own  exploits,  of  the  men  he  had  killed 
and  the  horses  he  had  stolen,  and  then  to  estab 
lish  his  standing  clearly  in  my  mind,  he  added: 
i  My  squaw  same  white  squaw — savey  pie.' ': 

"  Even  there,  then,-  the  trail  of  the  pie-crust  is 
over  them  all." 

"  No !  only  over  the  aristocracy." 

"  I  should  like  so  much  to  see  that  wonderful 
country." 

"  It  is  worth  seeing,"  he  said,  with  a  curious  sink 
ing  of  the  heart,  "  if  you  are  not  under  orders." 

He  could  not  help  thinking  what  a  pleasant  thing 
a  journey  through  that  Brobdingnaggian  fairy-land 
would  be  with  company  like  the  young  girl  before 
him.  Nature  would  be  twice  as  lovely  reflected 
from  those  brown  eyes.  The  absurdities  and  an 
noyances  of  travel  would  be  made  delightful  by 
that  frank,  clear  laugh.  The  thought  of  his  poor 
Nellie  flitted  by  him  an  instant,  too  gentle  and  fee 
ble  for  reproach.  Another  stronger  thought  had 
occupied  his  mind. 

"You  ought  "to  see  it.  Your  mother  will  need 
rest  before  long  from  her  Rescue-the-Perishings, 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  123 

and  you  are  overworking  yourself  dreadfully  over 
that  sketch-book.  There  is  a  touch  of  malaria  about 
the  fountain  in  Bluff  Park.  Colorado  will  do  you 
both  no  end  of  good.  I  feel  as  if  I  needed  it  my 
self.  I  haven't  energy  enough  to  read  Mr.  Martin's 
*  Life  of  the  Prince  Consort.'  I  shall  speak  to  Mrs. 
Belding  as  soon  as  she  returns." 

"  Do,  by  all  means.  I  should  like  to  go,  but 
mamma  would  not  spend  three  nights  in  a  sleep 
ing-car  to  see  the  Delectable  Mountains  themselves." 

He  rose  and  walked  about  the  room,  looking  at 
the  flower  and  the  young  artist  from  different' points 
of  view,  and  seeing  new  beauties  in  each  continu 
ally.  There  were  long  lapses  of  conversation,  in 
which  Alice  worked  assiduously  and  FarnKam 
lounged  about  the  conservatory,  always  returning 
with  a  quick  word  and  a  keen  look  at  the  face  of 
the  girl.  At  last  he  said  to  himself :  "  Look  'here ! 
She  is  not  a  baby.  She  is  nearly  twenty  years  old. 
I  have  been  wondering  why  her  face  was  so  steady 
and  wise."  The  thought  that  she  was  not  a  child 
filled  his  heart  with  pleasure  and  his  face  with 
light.  But  his  volubility  seemed  to  die  suddenly 
away.  He  sat  for  a  good  while  in  silence,  and 
started  a  little  as  she  looked  up  and  said : 

"  Now,  if  you  will  be  very  gentle,  you  can  see  my 
sketch  and  tell  me  what  to  do  next." 

It  was  a  pretty  and  unpretentious  picture  that  she 
had  made.  The  flower  was  faithfully  though  stiffly 
given,  and  nothing  especially  remarkable  had  been 
attempted  or  achieved.  Farnham  looked  at  the 
sketch  with  eyes  in  which  there  was  no  criticism. 
He  gave  Alice  a  word  or  two  of  heartier  praise  for 


124  THE  BREAD-WINNERS. 

her  work  than  she  knew  she  deserved.  It  was 
rather  more  than  she  expected,  and  she  was  not 
altogether  pleased  to  be  so  highly  commended, 
though  she  could  hardly  have  said  why.  Per 
haps  it  was  because  it  made  her  think  less  of  his 
critical  faculty.  This  was  not  agreeable,  for  her 
admiration  of  him  from  her  childhood  had  been  one 
of  the  greatest  pleasures  of  her  life.  She  had  re 
garded  him  as  children  regard  a  brilliant  and  hand 
some  young  uncle.  She  did  not  expect  from  him 
either  gallantry  or  equality  of  treatment. 

"  There !  Do  not  say  too  much  about  it — you 
will  make  me  ashamed  of  it.  What  does  it  lack  ?" 

"  Nothing,  except  something  on  the  right  to  bal 
ance  the  other  side.  You  might  sketch  in  roughly 
a  half-opened  flower  on  the  vine  about  there,"  indi 
cating  the  place. 

She  took  her  pencils  and  began  obediently  to  do 
what  he  had  suggested.  He  leaned  over  her  shoul 
der,  so  near  her  she  could  feel  his  breath  on  the 
light  curls  that  played  about  her  ear.  She  wished 
he  would  move.  She  grew  nervous,  and  at  last 
said: 

"  I  am  tired.     You  put  in  that  flower." 

He  took  the  book  and  pencils  from-  her,  as  she 
rose  from  her  chair  and  gave  him  her  place,  and 
with  a  few  strong  and  rapid  strokes  finished  the 
sketch. 

"  After  all,"  she  said  to  herself,  with  hearty  ap 
preciation,  "  men  do  have  the  advantage  of  girls. 
He  bothered  me  dreadfully,  and  I  did  not  bother 
him  in  the  least.  And  yet  I  stood  as  near  to  him 
as  he  did  to  me." 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  125 

Mrs.  Belding  came  in  a  moment  later.  She  was 
in  high  spirits.  They  had  had  a  good  meeting — 
{md_con verted  a  Jew,  she  thought.  She  admired 
the  sketch  very  much;  hoped  Alice  had  been  no 
trouble  to  Farnham.  He  walked  home  with  the 
ladies,  and  afterward  smoked  a  cigar  with  great  de 
liberation  under  the  limes. 

Mrs.  Belding  asked  Alice  how  they  had  got  on. 

"  He  did  not  eat  you,  you  see.  You  must  get 
out  of  your  ideas  of  men,  especially  men  of  Arthur 
Farnham's  age.  He  never  thinks  of  you.  He  is 
old  enough  to  be  your  father." 

Alice  kissed  her  mother  and  went  to  her  own 
room,  calculating  on  the  way  the  difference  between 
her  age  and  Captain  Farnharn's. 


126  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 


IX. 

A   DRAMA   WITH    TWO    SPECTATORS. 

THE  words  of  Bott  lingered  obstinately  in  Maud 
Matcliin's  mind.  She  gave  herself  no  rest  from 
dwelling  on  them.  Her  imagination  was  full,  day 
after  day,  of  glowing  pictures  of  herself  and  Farn- 
ham  in  tete-a-tete ;  she  would  seek  in  a  thousand 
ways  to  tell  her  love — but  she  could  never  quite  ar 
range  her  avowal  in  a  satisfactory  manner.  Long 
before  she  came  to  the  decisive  words  which  were 
to  kindle  his  heart  to  flame  in  the  imaginary  dia 
logue,  he  would  himself  take  fire  by  spontaneous 
combv'tion,  and,  falling  on  his  knees,  would  offer 
his  h'  ad,  his  heart,  and  his  fortune  to  her  in  words 
taken  from  "  The  Earl's  Daughter"  or  the  "  Heir  of 
Ashby." 

"  Oh,  pshaw  !  that's  the  way  it  ought  to  be,"  she 
would  say  to  herself.  "  But  if  he  won't — I  wonder 
whether  I  ever  could  have  the  brass  to  do  it?  I 
don't  know  why  I  shouldn't.  We  are  both  human. 
Bott  wouldn't  have  said  that  if  there  was  nothing  in 
it,  and  he's  a  mighty  smart  man." 

The  night  usually  gave  her  courage.  Gazing  into 
her  glass,  she  saw  enough  to  inspire  her  with  an  idea 
of  her  own  invincibility ;  and  after  she  had  grown 
warm  in  bed  she  would  doze  away,  resolving  with  a 
stout  heart  that  she  would  try  her  fate  in  the  morn 
ing.  But  when  day  came,  the  enterprise  no  longer 


THE   BKEAD-WINNERS.  127 

seemed  so  simple.  Her  scanty  wardrobe  struck  her 
with  cowardice  as  she  surveyed  it.  The  broad  day 
light  made  everything  in  the  house  seem  poor  and 
shabby.  When  she  went  down-stairs,  her  heart 
sank  within  her  as  she  entered  the  kitchen  to  help 
her  mother,  and  when  she  sat  with  the  family  at  the 
breakfast-table,  she  had  no  faith  left  in  her  dreams 
of  the  rosy  midnight.  This  alternation  of  feeling 
bred  in  her,  in  the  course  of  a  few  days,  a  sort  of 
fever,  which  lent  a  singular  beauty  to  her  face,  and 
a  petulant  tang  to  her  speech.  She  rose  one  morn 
ing,  after  a  sleepless  night,  in  a  state  of  anger  and 
excitement  in  which  she  had  little  difficulty  in 
charging  upon  Farnham  all  responsibility  for  her 
trouble  of  mind. 

"  I  won't  stand  it  any  longer,"  she  said  aloud  in 
her  chamber.  "  I  shall  go  to  him  this  day  and  have 
it  out.  I  shall  ask  him  what  he  means  by  treating 
me  so." 

She  sat  down  by  her  bureau  and  began  to  crimp 
her  hair  with  grim  resolution.  Her  mother  came 
and  knocked  at  her  door.  "  I'm  not  coming  to 
breakfast,  I've  got  a  headache,"  she  said,  and  added 
to  herself,  "  I  sha'n't  go  down  and  get  the  smell  of 
bacon  on  me  this  morning." 

She  continued  her  work  of  personal  adornment 
for  two  hours,  going  several  times  over  her  whole 
modest  arsenal  of  finery  before  she  was  ready  for 
the  fray.  She  then  went  down  in  her  street  cos 
tume,  and  made  a  hasty  meal  of  bread  and  butter, 
standing  by  the  pantry.  Her  mother  came  in  and 
found  her  there. 

"  Why,  Mattie,  how's  your  head  1" 


128  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

"  I'm  going  to  take  a  walk  and  see  what  that  will 
do." 

As  she  walked  rapidly  out  of  Dean  Street,  the 
great  clock  of  the  cathedral  was  striking  the  hour  of 
nine. 

"  Goodness !"  she  exclaimed,  "  that's  too  early  to 
call  on  a  gentleman.  "What  shall  I  do  ?" 

She  concluded  to  spend  the  time  of  waiting  in  the 
library,  and  walked  rapidly  in  that  direction,  the 
fresh  air  flushing  her  cheeks,  and  bio  wing  the  frizzed 
hair  prettily  about  her  temples.  She  went  straight 
to  the  reference  rooms,  and  sat  down  to  read  a  mag 
azine.  The  girl  who  had  prompted  her  to  apply  for 
a  place  was  there  on  duty.  She  gave  a  little  cry  of 
delight  when  she  saw  Maud,  and  said  :  "  I  was  just 
crazy  to  see  you.  I  have  got  a  great  secret  for  you. 
I'm  engaged!" 

The  girls  kissed  each  other  with  giggles  and  little 
screams,  and  the  young  woman  told  who  he  was — in 
the  lightning-rod  business,  in  Kalamazoo,  and  doing 
very  well ;  they  were  to  be  married  almost  immedi 
ately. 

"  You  never  saw  such  a  fellow,  he  just  won't  wait ;" 
and  consequently  her  place  in  the  library  would  be 
vacant.  "  Now,  you  must  have  it,  Maud  !  I  haven't 
told  a  soul.  Even  the*  Doctor  don't  know  it  yet." 

Maud  left  the  library  and  walked  up  the  avenue 
with  an  easier  mind.  She  had  an  excuse  for  her 
visit  now,  and  need  not  broach,  unless  she  liked,  the 
tremendous  subject  that  made  her  turn  hot  and  cold 
to  think  of.  She  went  rustling  up  the  wide  thor 
oughfare  at  a  quick  pace;  but  before  arriving  at 
Farnham's,  moved  by  a  momentary  whim,  she  turned 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  129 

down  a  side  street  leading  to  Bishop's  Lane.  She 
said  to  herself,  "  I  will  go  in  by  that  little  gate  once, 
if  I  never  do  again."  As  she  drew  near,  she  thought, 
"  I  hope  Sam  isn't  there." 

Sam  was  there,  just  finishing  his  work  upon  the 
greenhouse.  Farnham  was  there  also  ;  he  had  come 
down  to  inspect  the  job,  and  he  and  Sleeny  were 
chatting  near  the  gate  as  Maud  opened  it  and  came 
in.  Farnham  stepped  forward  to  meet  her.  The 
unexpected  rencounter  made  her  shy,  and  she  neither 
spoke  to  Sam  nor  looked  toward  him,  which  filled 
him  with  a  dull  jealousy. 

"  Could  I  have  a  few  moments'  conversation  with 
you,  sir  ?"  she  asked,  with  stiff  formality. 

"  Certainly,"  said  Farnham,  smiling.  "  Shall  we 
go  into  the  house  ?" 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  she  rejoined,  severely  decorous. 

They  walked  up  the  garden-path  together,  and 
Sam  looked  after  them  with  an  unquiet  heart. 

She  was  walking  beside  Farnham  with  a  stately 
step,  in  spite  of  the  scabbard-like  narrowness  of  the 
dress  she  wore.  She  was  nearly  as  tall  as  he,  and  as 
graceful  as  a  young  pine  blown  to  and  fro  by  soft 
winds.  The  carpenter,  with  his  heart  heavy  *with 
love  and  longing,  felt  a  bitter  sense  that  she  was  too 
fine  for  him.  They  passed  into  the  house,  and  he 
turned  to  his  work  with  a  sigh,  often  dropping  his 
busy  hands  and  looking  toward  the  house  with  a 
dumb  questioning  in  his  eyes.  After  a  half  hour 
which  seemed  endless  to  him,  they  reappeared  and 
walked  slowly  down  the  lawn.  There  was  trouble 
and  agitation  in  the  girl's  face,  and  Farnham  was 
serious  also.  As  they  came  by  the  rose-house,  Maud 
9 


130  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

paused  and  looked  up  with  a  sorrowful  smile  and  a 
question.  Farnham  nodded,  and  they  walked  to 
the  open  door  of  the  long,  low  building.  He  led 
the  way  in,  and  Maud,  looking  hastily  around,  closed 
the  door  behind  them. 

"  He's  goiii'  to  give  her  some  more  of  them  roses," 
said  Sam,  explaining  the  matter  to  himself.  But  he 
worked  for  some  time  with  his  blond  beard  on  his 
shoulder  in  his  impatience  to  see  them  come  out. 
At  last,  he  could  resist  no  longer.  He  knew  a  point 
where  he  could  look  through  the  glass  and  see  what 
ever  was  taking  place  among  the  roses.  He  walked 
swiftly  across  the  turf  to  that  point.  He  looked  in 
and  saw  Maud,  whose  back  was  turned  toward  him, 
talking  as  if  she  were  pleading  for  her  life,  while 
Farnham  listened  with  a  clouded  brow.  Sleeny 
stood  staring  with  stupid  wonder  while  Maud  laid 
her  hand  upon  Farnham's  shoulder.  At  that  moment 
he  heard  footsteps  on  the  gravel  walk  at  some  distance 
from  him,  and  he  looked  up  and  saw  Mrs.  Belding 
approaching.  Confused  at  his  attitude  of  espionage, 
he  walked  away  from  his  post,  and,  as  he  passed  her, 
Mrs.  Belding  asked  him  if  he  knew  where  Mr. 
Farnham  was. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered, "  he's  in  there.  Walk  right 
in ;"  and  in  the  midst  of  his  trouble  of  spirit  he 
could  hardly  help  chuckling  at  his  own  cleverness 
as  he  walked,  in  his  amazement,  back  to  the  conser 
vatory. 

While  she  was  in  the  house,  Maud  had  confined 
herself  to  the  subject  of  the  vacancy  in  the  library. 
She  rushed  at  it,  as  a  hunter  at  a  hedge,  to  get  away 
from  the  other  matter. which  had  tormented  her  for 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  131 

a  week.  When  she  found  herself  alone  with  Farn- 
ham  she  saw  that  it  would  be  "  horrid  "  to  say  what 
she  had  so  long  been  rehearsing.  "  Now  I  can  get 
that  place,  if  you  will  help  me.  No  earthly  soul 
knows  anything  about  it,  and  Minnie  said  she  would 
give  me  a  good  chance  before  she  let  it  out." 

Farnham  tried  to  show  her  the  difficulties  in  the 
way.  He  was  led  by  her  eagerness  into  a  more  de 
tailed  account  of  his  differences  with  the  rest  of  the 
board  than  he  had  ever  given  to  any  one,  a  fuller 
narrative  than  was  perhaps  consistent  with  entire 
prudence.  Whenever  he  paused,  she  would  insist 
with  a  woman's  disconcerting  directness  : 

"  But  they  don't  know  anything  about  it  this  time 
— they  can't  combine  on  anybody.  You  can  certainly 
get  one  of  them." 

Farnham  still  argued  against  her  sanguine  hopes, 
till  he  at  last  affected  her  own  spirits,  and  she  grew 
silent  and  despondent.  As  she  rose  to  go,  he  also 
took  his  hat  to  return  to  the  garden,  where  he  had 
left  Sleeny,  and  they  walked  over  the  lawn  together. 
As  they  approached  the  rose-house,  she  thought  of 
her  former  visit  and  asked  to  repeat  it.  The  warm 
breath  of  the  flowers  saluted  her  as  she  crossed  the 
threshold,  bringing  so  vivid  a  reminiscence  of  the 
enchantment  of  that  other  day,  that  there  came 
with  it  a  sudden  and  poignant  desire  to  try  there,  in 
that  bewitched  atmosphere,  the  desperate  experi 
ment  which  would  decide  her  fate.  There  was  no 
longer  any  struggle  in  he*  mind.  She  could  not, 
for  her  life,  have  kept  silent  now.  She  walked 
slowly  beside  him  to  tho  place  where  the  pots  of 
roses  stood  ranged  on  their  frames,  filling  the  air 


132  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

with  dense  fragrance.  Her  hands  were  icy  cold  and 
quick  flushes  passed  through  her,  while  her  face 
reddened  and  paled  like  a  horizon  smitten  by  heat- 
lightning  in  a  sultry  night  of  summer.  She  looked 
at  the  moist  brick  pavement  at  her  feet,  her  eyelids 
seemed  too  heavy  to  lift,  and  the  long  lashes  nearly 
touched  her  cheeks. 

"  What  sort  will  you  have  ?"  said  Farnham,  reach 
ing  for  the  gardener's  shears. 

"  Never  mind  the  roses,"  she  said,  in  a  dry  voice 
which  she  hardly  recognized  as  her  own.  "  I  have 
something  to  say  to  you." 

He  turned  and  looked  at  her  with  surprise.  She 
raised  her  eyes  to  his  with  a  great  effort,  and  then, 
blushing  fiery  red,  she  said,  in  a  clear,  low  voice, 
"  I  love  you." 

Like  many  another  daughter  and  son  of  Eve,  she 
was  startled  at  the  effect  of  these  momentous  words 
upon  herself.  Of  all  forms  of  speech  these  three 
words  are  the  most  powerful,  the  most  wonder 
working  upon  the  being  who  utters  them.  It  was 
the  first  time  they  had  ever  passed  her  lips,  and 
they  exalted  and  inebriated  her.  She  was  suddenly 
set  free  from  the  bashful  constraint  which  had  held 
her,  and  with  a  leaping  pulse  and  free  tongue  she 
poured  out  her  heart  to  the  astonished  and  scandal 
ized  young  man. 

"  Yes,  I  love  you.  You  think  it's  horrid  that  I 
should  say  so,  don't  you  ?  But  I  don't  care,  I  love 
you.  I  loved  you  the  first  time  I  saw  you,  though 
you  made  me  so  angry  about  my  glasses.  But  you 
were  my  master,  and  I  knew  it,  and  I  never  put 
t-Jiem  on  again.  And  I  thought  of  you  day  and 


THE   BKEAD-WIKHERS.  133 

night,  and  I  longed  for  the  day  to  come  when  I 
might  see  you  once  more,  and  I  was  glad  when  I 
did  not  get  that  place,  so  that  I  could  come  again 
and  see  you  and  talk  with  you.  I  can  tell  you  over 
again  every  word  you  ever  said  to  me.  You  were 
not  like  other  men.  You  are  the  first  real  man  I 
ever  knew.  I  was  silly  and  wild  when  I  wanted 
to  be  your  secretary.  Of  course,  that  wouldn't  do. 
If  I  am  not  to  be  your  wife,  I  must  never  see  you 
again;  you  know  that,  don't  you?"  and,  carried 
away  by  her  own  reckless  words,  she  laid  her  hand 
on  his  shoulder.  His  frown  of  amazement  and  dis 
pleasure  shook  her  composure  somewhat.  She 
turned  pale  and  trembled,  her  eyes  fell,  and  it 
seemed  for  an  instant  as  if  she  would  sink  to  the 
floor  at  his  feet.  He  put  his  arm  around  her,  to 
keep  her  from  falling  and  pressed  her  closely  to 
him.  She  threw  her  head  back  upon  his  shoulder 
and  lifted  her  face  to  him.  He  looked  down  on 
her,  and  the  frown  passed  from  his  brow  as  he  sur 
veyed  her  flushed  cheeks,  her  red  full  lips  parted  in 
breathless  eagerness ;  her  dark  eyes  were  wide  open, 
the  iris  flecked  with  golden  sparks  and  the  white  as 
clear  and  blue-tinged  as  in  the  eyes  of  a  vigorous 
infant ;  her  head  lay  on  his  shoulder  in  perfect  con 
tent,  and  she  put  up  her  mouth  to  him  as  simply 
and  as  sure  of  a  response  as  a  pretty  child.  He  was 
entirely  aware  of  the  ridiculousness  of  his  position, 
but  he  stooped  and  kissed  her. 

Her  work  seemed  all  done ;  but  her  satisfaction 
lasted  only  a  second.  Her  face  broke  into  happy 
smiles. 

"  You  do  love  me,  do  you  not  ?"  she  asked. 


134  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

"  I  certainly  do  not,"  he  answered ;  and  at  that 
instant  the  door  opened  and  Mrs.  Belding  saw  this 
pretty  group  of  apparent  lovers  on  a  rich  back 
ground  of  Jacqueminot  roses. 

Startled  more  at  the  words  of  Farnham  than  at 
the  entry  of  Mrs.  Belding,  Maud  had  started  up, 
like  Yivien,  "stiff  as  a  viper  frozen."  Her  first 
thought  was  whether  she  had  crushed  her  hat  on 
his  shoulder,  and  her  hands  flew  instinctively  to  her 
head-gear.  She  then  walked  tempestuously  past 
the  astonished  lady  out  into  the  garden  and  brushed 
roughly  by  Sleeny,  who  tried  to  detain  her. 

"Hold  your  tongue,  Sam!  I  hate  you  and  all 
men" ;  and  with  this  general  denunciation,  she 
passed  out  of  the  place,  flaming  with  rage  and 
shame. 

Mrs.  Belding  stood  for  a  moment  speechless,  and 
then  resorted  to  the  use  of  that  hard- worked  and 
useful  monosyllable, 

"  Well !"  with  a  sharp,  falling  inflection. 

"  Well !"  returned  Farnham,  with  an  easy,  rising 
accent ;  and  then  both  of  them  relieved  the  strained 
situation  with  a  laugh. 

"  Come,  now,"  said  the  good-naturad  woman,  "  I 
am  a  sort  of  guardian  of  yours.  Give  an  account 
of  yourself." 

"  That  is  easily  given,"  said  Farnham.  "  A  young 
woman,  whose  name  I  hardly  know,  came  to  me  in 
the  garden  this  morning  to  ask  for  help  to  get  some 
lady-like  work  to  do.  After  discussing  that  subject 
threadbare,  she  came  in  here  for  a  rose,  and,  apropos 
of  nothing,  made  me  a  declaration  and  a  proposal  of 
honorable  wedlock,  dans  toutes  les formes" 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  135 

"  The  forms  were  evident  as  I  entered,"  said  Mrs. 
Belding,  dryly. 

"I  could  not  let  her  drop  on  the  damp  floor," 
said  Farnham,  who  was  astonished  to  find  himself 
positively  blushing  under  the  amused  scrutiny  of 
his  mother-confessor.  "  Consider,  if  you  please,  my 
dear  madam,  that  this  is  the  first  offer  I  have  ever 
received,  and  I  was  naturally  somewhat  awkward 
about  declining  it.  We  shall  learn  better  manners 
as  we  go  along." 

"  You  did  decline,  then  ?"  said  Mrs.  Belding, 
easily  persuaded  of  the  substantial  truth  of  the 
story,  and  naturally  inclined,  as  is  the  way  of  wo 
man,  to  the  man's  side.  Then,  laughing  at  Arthur's 
discomfiture,  she  added,  "  I  was  about  to  congratu 
late  you." 

"  I  deserve  only  your  commiseration." 

"I  must  look  about  and  dispose  of  you  in  some 
way.  You  are  evidently  too  rich  and  too  fasci 
nating.  But  I  came  over  to-day  to  ask  you  what  I 
ought  to  do  about  my -Lake  View  farm.  I  have  two 
offers  for  it ;  if  I  had  but  one,  I  would  take  either 
— well,  you  know  what  I  mean ;"  and  the  conversa 
tion  became  practical.  After  that  matter  was  dis 
posed  of,  she  said,  with  a  keen  side-glance  at  Farn 
ham,  "That  was  a  very  pretty  girl.  I  hope  you 
will  not  be  exposed  to  such  another  attack  ;  I  might 
not  be  so  near  the  next  time." 

"That  danger,  thanks  to  you,  is  over;  Mademoi 
selle  will  never  return,"  he  answered,  with  an  air  of 
conviction. 

Mrs.  Belding  went  home  with  no  impression  left 
of  the  scene  she  had  witnessed  but  one  of  amuse- 


136  THE  BREAD-WINNERS. 

ment.  She  thought  of  it4 only  as  "a  good  joke  on 
Arthur  Farnham."  She  kept  chuckling  to  herself 
over  it  all  day,  and  if  she  had  had  any  especial  gos 
sip  in  the  town,  she  would  have  put  on  her  hat  and 
hurried  off  to  tell  it.  But  she  was  a  woman  who 
lived  very  much  at  home,  and,  in  fact,  cared  little 
for  tattling.  She  was  several  times  on  the  point  of 
sharing  the  fun  of  it  with  her  daughter,  but  was 
prevented  by  an  instinctive  feeling  that  it  was 
hardly  the  sort  of  story  to  tell  a  young  girl  about  a 
personal  acquaintance.  So  she  restrained  herself, 
though  the  solitary  enjoyment  of  it  irritated  her. 

They  were  sitting  on  the  wide  porch  which  ran 
around  two  sides  of  the  house  just  as  twilight  was 
falling.  The  air  was  full  of  drowsy  calls  and  twit 
ters  from  the  grass  and  the  trees.  The  two  ladies 
had  been  sitting  ever  since  dinner,  enjoying  the 
warm  air  of  the  early  summer,  talking  very  little, 
and  dropping  often  into  long  and  contented  silences. 
Mrs.  Belding  had  condescended  to  grenadine  in  con 
sideration  of  the  weather,  and  so  looked  less  funereal 
than  usual.  Alice  was  dressed  in  a  soft  and  vapory 
fabric  of  creamy  bunting,  in  the  midst  of  which  her 
long  figure  lay  reclined  in  an  easy  chair  of  Japanese 
bamboo ;  she  might  have  posed  for  a  statue  of  grace 
ful  and  luxurious  repose.  There  was  light  enough 
from  the  rising  moon  and  the  risen  stars  to  show  the 
clear  beauty  of  her  face  and  the  yellow  lustre  of  her 
hair ;  and  her  mother  cast  upon  her  from  time  to 
time  a  glance  of  pride  and  fondness,  as  if  she  were 
a  recovered  treasure  to  which  the  attraction  of 
novelty  had  just  been  added  anew. 

"  They  say  she  looks  as  I  did  at  her  age,"  thought 


THE  BREAD-WINNERS.  137 

the  candid  lady ;  "  but  they  must  flatter  me.  My 
nose  was  never  so  straight  as  that :  her  nose  is  Beld- 
ing  all  over.  I  wonder  whom  she  will  care  about 
here  ?  Mr.  Furrey  is  a  nice  young  man,  but  she  is 
hardly  polite  to  him.  There  he  is  now." 

The  young  man  came  briskly  up  the  walk,  and 
ran  up  the  steps  so  quickly  that  he  tripped  on  the 
last  one  and  dropped  his  hat.  He  cleverly  recovered 
it,  however,  and  made  very  elaborate  bows  to  both 
the  ladies,  hoping  that  he  found  them  quite  well. 
Mrs.  Belding  bustled  about  to  give  him  a  chair,  at 
which  Alice  knitted  her  pretty  brows  a  little.  She 
had  scarcely  moved  her  eyelashes  to  greet  her  visitor; 
but  when  Mrs.  Belding  placed  a  light  chair  near  her 
daughter  and  invited  Mr.  Furrey  to  take  it,  the  young 
lady  rose  from  her  reclining  attitude  and  sat  bolt 
upright  with  a  look  of  freezing  dignity.  The  youth 
was  not  at  all  abashed,  but  took  his  seat,  with  his 
hat  held  lightly  by  the  brim  in  both  hands.  He 
was  elegantly  dressed,  in  as  faithful  and  reverent  an 
imitation  as  home  talent  could  produce  of  the  cos 
tume  of  the  gentlemen  who  that  year  were  driving 
coaches  in  New  York.  His  collar  was  as  stiff  as  tin ; 
he  had  a  white  scarf,  with  an  elaborate  pin  con 
structed  of  whips  and  spurs  and  horseshoes.  He 
wore  dog-skin  gloves,  very  tight  and  red.  His  hair 
was  parted  in  the  middle  with  rigorous  impar 
tiality  and  shed  rather  rank  fragrance  on  the  night. 
He  began  conversation  with  an  easy  air,  in  which 
there  was  something  of  pleasurable  excitement 
mixed.  • 

"  I  come  to  receive  your  congratulations,  ladies !" 
"What,  you  are  engaged?"  said  Mrs.  Belding, 


138  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

and  even  the  placid  face  of  Miss  Alice  brightened 
with  a  look  of  pleased  inquiry. 

"  Oh,  dear,  no ;  how  could  you  think  so  ?"  he  pro 
tested,  with  an  arch  look  at  Alice  which  turned  her 
to  marble  again.  "  I  mean  I  have  this  day  been  ap 
pointed  assistant  cashier  of  our  bank  !"  Napoleon, 
informing  Madame  de  Beauharnais  *  that  he  was  to 
command  the  army  of  Italy,  probably  made  less  ado 
about  it. 

Mrs.  Belding  made  haste  to  murmur  her  con 
gratulations.  "  Very  gratifying,  I  am  sure, — at  your 
age ;"  to  which  Alice  responded  like  a  chorus,  but 
without  any  initiative  warmth,  "  Very  gratifying,  I 
am  sure." 

Furrey  went  on  at  some  length  to  detail  all  the 
circumstances  of  the  event :  how  Mr.  Lathers,  the 
president  of  the  bank,  had  sent  for  him,  and  how  he 
complimented  him ;  how  he  had  asked  him  where 
he  learned  to  write  such  a  good  hand ;  and  how  he 
had  replied  that  it  came  sort  of  natural  to  him  to 
write  well,  that  he  could  make  the  American  eagle 
with  pen  and  ink  before  he  was  fifteen,  all  but  the 
tail-feathers,  and  how  he  discovered  a  year  later  that 
the  tail-feathers  had  to  be  made  by  holding  the  pen 
between  the  first  and  second  fingers;  with  much 
more  to  the  like  innocent  purpose,  to  which  Mrs. 
Belding  listened  with  nods  and  murmurs  of  approval. 
This  was  all  the  amiable  young  man  needed  to  en 
courage  him  to  indeijnite  prattle.  He  told  them  all 
about  the  men  in  the  bank,  their  habits  and  their 

*  Perhaps  Josephine  told  Napoleon  herself,  but  I  think  she 
was  clever  enough  to  let,  him  imagine  he  owed  the  appoint 
ment  to  his  merits. 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  139 

loves  and  their  personal  relations  to  him,  and  how 
he  seemed  somehow  to  be  a  general  favorite  among 
them  all.  Miss  Alice  sat  very  still  and  straight  in 
her  chair,  with  an  occasional  smile  when  the  laugh 
ter  of  Mr.  Furrey  seemed  to  require  it,  but  with  her 
eyes  turned  to  the  moonlit  night  in  vagrant  reverie, 
and  her  mind  in  those  distant  and  sacred  regions 
where  we  cannot  follow  the  minds  of  pure  and 
happy  girls. 

"  Now,  you  would  hardly  understand,  if  I  did  not 
tell  you,"  said  Mr.  Furrey,  "  how  it  is  that  I  have 
gained  the  confidence " 

At  this  moment  Alice,  who  had  been  glancing 
over  Mr.  Furrey's  shoulder  for  a  moment  with  a 
look  of  interest  in  her  eyes,  which  he  thought  was 
the  legitimate  result  of  his  entertaining  story,  cried : 

"  Why,  there  comes  Mr.  Farnham,  mamma." 

"So  it  is,"  said  her  mother.  "I  suppose  he 
wants  to  see 'me.  Don't  move,  Mr.  Furrey.  Mr. 
Farnham  and  I  will  go  into  the  house." 

"  By  no  means,"  said  that  gentleman,  who  by  this 
time  had  mounted  the  steps.  "I  was  sitting  all 
alone  on  my  porch  and  saw  by  the  moon  that  yours 
was  inhabited ;  and  so  I  came  over  to  improve  my 
mind  and  manners  in  your  society." 

"  I  will  get  a  chair  for  you,"  said  Mrs.  Belding. 

"  No,  thank  you ;  this  balustrade  will  bear  my 
weight,  arid  my  ashes  will  drop  harmless  on  the 
flower-bed,  if  you  will  let  me  finish  my  cigar."  And 
he  seated  himself  between  the  chair  of  Furrey  and 
the  willow  fabric  in  which  Alice  had  resumed  her 
place.  This  addition  to  the  company  was  not  at  all 
to  the  taste  of  the  assistant  cashier,  who  soon  took 


140  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

his  leave,  shaking  hands  with  the  ladies,  with  his 
best  bow. 

"  After  all,  I  do  prefer  a  chair,"  said  Farnham, 
getting  down  from  his  balustrade,  and  throwing 
away  his  cigar. 

He  sat  with  his  back  to  the  moonlight.  On  his 
left  was  Alice,  who,  as  soon  as  Furrey  took  his  de 
parture,  settled  back  in  her  willow  chair  in  her 
/former  attitude  of  graceful  ease.  On  the  right  was 
Mrs.  Belding,  in  her  thin,  cool  dress  of  gauzy  black. 
Farnham  looked  from  one  to  the  other  as  they 
talked,  and  that  curious  exercise,  so  common  to 
young  men  in  such  circumstances,  went  through  his 
mind.  He  tried  to  fancy  how  Mrs.  Belding  looked 
at  nineteen,  and  how  Miss  Belding  would  look  at 
fifty,  and  the  thought  gave  him  singular  pleasure. 
His  eyes  rested  with  satisfaction  on  the  kindly  and 
handsome  face  of  the  widow,  her  fine  shoulders 
and  arms,  and  comfortable  form,  and  then,  turning 
to  the  pure  and  exquisite  features  of  the  tall  girl, 
who  was  smiling  so  freshly  and  honestly  on  him, 
his  mind  leaped  forward  through  coming  years,  and 
he  said  to  himself :  "  What  a  wealth  of  the  woman 
there  is  there — for  somebody."  An  aggressive  feel 
ing  of  disapproval  of  young  Furrey  took  possession 
of  him,  and  he  said,  sharply : 

"  What  a  very  agreeable  young  man  Mr.  Furrey 
is?" 

Mrs.  Belding  assented,  and  Miss  Alice  laughed 
heartily,  and  his  mind  was  set  at  rest  for  the  mo 
ment. 

They  passed  a  long  time  together.  At  first  Mrs. 
Belding  and  Arthur  "made  the  expenses"  of  the 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

conversation;  but  she  soon  dropped  away,  and 
Alice,  under  the  influence  of  the  night  and  the 
moonlight  and  Farnham's  frank  and  gentle  provoca 
tion,  soon  found  herself  talking  with  as  much  free 
dom  and  energy  as  if  it  were  a  girls'  breakfast. 
With  far  more,  indeed, — for  nature  takes  care  of 
such  matters,  and  no  girl  can  talk  to  another  as  she 
can  to  a  man,  under  favoring  stars.  The  conversa 
tion  finally  took  a  personal  turn,  and  Alice,  to  her 
own  amazement,  began  to  talk  of  her  life  at  school, 
and  with  sweet  and  loving  earnestness  sang  the 
praises  of  Madame  de  Veaudrey. 

"  I  wish  you  could  know  her,"  she  said  to  Farn- 
ham,  with  a  sudden  impulse  of  sympathy.  He  was 
listening  to  her  intently,  and  enjoying  her  eager, 
ingenuous  speech  as  much  as  her  superb  beauty,  as 
the  moon  shone  full  on  her  young  face,  so  vital  and 
so  pure  at  once,  and  played,  as  if  glad  of  the  privi 
lege,  about  the  curved  lips,  the  flashing  teeth,  the 
soft  eyes  under  their  long  lashes,  and  the  hair  over 
the  white  forehead,  gleaming  as  crisply  brilliant  as 
fine-spun  wire  of  gold. 

"By  her  fruits  I  know  her,  and  I  admire  her 
very  much,"  he  said,  and  was  sorry  for  it  the  mo 
ment  afterward,  for  it  checked  the  course  of  the 
young  girl's  enthusiasm  and  brought  a  slight  blush 
to  her  cheek. 

"  I  ought  to  have  known  better,"  he  said  td  him 
self  with  real  penitence,  "than  to  utter  a  stupid 
commonplace  to  such  a  girl  when  she  was  talking  so 
earnestly."  And  he  tried  to  make  amends,  and  suc 
ceeded  in  winning  back  her  attention  v.and  her  slow 
unconscious  smiles  by  talking  to  her  of  things  a 


142  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

thousand  miles  away.  The  moon  was  silvering  tho 
tops  of  the  linden-trees  at  the  gates  before  they 
thought  of  the  flight  of  time,  and  they  had  quite 
forgotten  the  presence  of  Mrs.  Belding  when  her 
audible  repose  broke  in  upon  their  talk.  They 
looked  at  each  other,  and  burst  into  a  frank  laugh, 
full  of  confidence  and  comradeship,  which  the  good 
lady  heard  in  her  dreams  and  waked,  saying,  "  What 
are  you  laughing  at  ?  I  did  not  catch  that  last 
witticism." 

The  young  people  rose  from  their  chairs.  "  I 
can't  repeat  my  own  mots,"  said  Arthur :  "  Miss 
Belding  will  tell  you." 

"  Indeed  I  shall  not,"  replied  Alice.  "  It  was  not 
one  of  his  best,  mamma." 

She  gave  him  her  hand  as  he  said  "  Good-night," 
and  it  lay  in  his  firm  grasp  a  moment  without  re 
serve  or  tremor. 

"  You  are  a  queer  girl,  Alice,"  said  Mrs.  Belding, 
as  they  walked  into  the  drawing- room  through  the 
open  window.  "  You  put  on  your  stiffest  company 
manners  for  Mr.  Furrey,  and  you  seem  entirely  at 
ease  with  Mr.  Farnham,  who  is  much  older  and 
cleverer,  and  is  noted  for  his  sarcastic  criticisms." 

"  I  do  not  know  why  it  is,  mamma,  but  I  do  feel 
very  much  at  home  with  Mr.  Farnham,  and  I  do 
not  want  Mr.  Furrey  to  feel  at  home  with  me." 

Upon  this,  Mrs.  Belding  laughed  aloud.  Alice 
turned  in  surprise,  and  her  mother  said,  "  It  is  too 
good  to  keep.  I  must  tell  you.  It  is  such  a  joke 
on  Arthur ;"  and,  sitting  in  a  low  arm-chair,  while 
Alice  stood  before  her  leaning  upon  the  back  of  an 
other,  she  told  the  whole  story  of  the  scene  of  the 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  143 

morning  in  the  rose-house.  She  gave  it  in  the  full 
est  detail,  interrupting  herself  here  and  there  for 
soft  cachinnations,  unmindful  of  the  stern,  unsmil 
ing  silence  with  which  her  daughter  listened. 

She  finished,  with  a  loud  flourish  of  merriment, 
and  then  asked :  "  Did  you  ever  hear  anything  so 
funny  in  your  life  ?" 

The  young  lady  was  turning  white  and  red  in  an 
ominous  manner,  and  was  biting  her  nether  lip. 
Her  answer  to  her  mother's  question  was  swift  and 
brief : 

"  I  never  heard  anything  so  horrid,"  and  she 
moved  majestically  away  without  another  word. 

Mrs.  Belding  sat  for  a  moment  abashed.  "  There !" 
she  said  to  herself,  "  I  knew  very  well  I  ought  not 
to  tell  her.  But  it  was  too  good  to  keep,  and  I  had 
nobody  else  to  tell."  She  went  to  bed,  feeling 
rather  ill-used.  As  she  passed  her  daughter's  door, 
she  said,  "  Good-night,  Alice !"  and  a  voice  not 
quite  so  sweet  as  usual  replied,  "  Good-night,  mam 
ma,"  but  the  door  was  not  opened. 

Alice  turned  down-  her  light  and  sat  upon  a 
cushioned  seat  in  the  embrasure  of  her  open  win 
dow.  She  looked  up  at  the  stars,  which  swam  and 
glittered  in  her  angry  eyes.  With  trembling  lips 
and  clinched  hands  she  communed  with  herself. 
"  Why,  why,  why  did  mamma  tell  me  that  horrid 
story  ?  To  think  there  should  be  such  women  in 
the  world  !  To  take  such  a  liberty  with  him,  of  all 
men !  She  could  not  have  done  it  without  some  en 
couragement — and  he  could  not  have  encouraged 
her.  He  is  not  that  kind  of  a  vulgar  flirt  at  all. 

They  may  all  be 


144  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

—but  I  did  not  think — what  business  have  I  think 
ing  about  it  ?  I  had  better  go  to  bed.  I  have  spent 
all  the  evening  talking  to  a  man  who — Oh !  I  wish 
mamma  had  not  told  me  that  wretched  story.  I 
shall  never  speak  to  him  again.  It  is  a  pity,  too, 
for  we  are  such  near  neighbors,  and  he  is  so  nice,  if 
he  were  not — But  I  don't  care  how  nice  he  is,  she  has 
spoiled  him.  I  wonder  who  she  was.  Pretty,  was 
she  ?  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it — some  bold-faced, 
brazen  creature.  Oh  !  I  shall  hate  myself  if  I  cry ;" 
but  that  was  past  praying  for,  and  she  closed  her 
lattice  and  went  to  bed  for  fear  the  stars  should  wit 
ness  her  unwelcome  tears. 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  145 

X. 

A  WORD  OUT  OF  SEASON. 

ARTHUR  F^RNHAM  awoke  the  next  day  with  a 
flight  of  sweet  hopes  and  fancies  singing  in  his 
heart  and  brain.  He  felt  cheerfully  and  kindly  to 
ward  the  whole  human  race.  As  he  walked  down 
into  the  city  to  transact  some  business  he  had  there 
with  his  lawyer,  he  went  out  of  his  way  to  speak  to 
little  children.  He  gave  all  his  acquaintances  a 
heartier  "  Good-morning"  than  usual.  He  even 
whistled  at  passing  dogs.  The  twitter  of  the  spar 
rows  in  the  trees,  their  fierce  contentions  on  the 
grass,  amused  him.  He  leaned  over  the  railing  of 
the  fountain  in  the  square  with  the  idlers,  and  took 
a  deep  interest  in  the  turtles,  who  were  baking  their 
frescoed  backs  in  the  warm  sun,  as  they  floated 
about  on  pine  boards,  amid  the  bubbles  of  the  clear 
water. 

As  he  passed  by  the  library  building,  Dr.  Buch- 
lieber  was  standing  in  the  door.  "  Good  luck,"  he 
said ;  "  I  was  just  wishing  to  see  you.  One  of  our 
young  women  resigned  this  morning,  and  I  think 
there  may  be  a  chance  for  our  handsome  friend. 
The  meeting,  you  remember,  is  this  afternoon." 

Farnham  hardly  recalled  the  name  of  the  young 

lady  in  whose  success  he  had  been  so  interested, 

although  recent  intimate  occurrences   might  have 

been  expected  to  fix  it  somewhat  permanently  in  his 

It 


146  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

remembrance.  But  all  female  images  except  one 
had  become  rather  vague  in  his  memory.  He  as 
sented,  however,  to  what  the  doctor  proposed,  and 
going  away  congratulated  himself  on  the  possibility 
of  doing  Maud  a  service  and  ridding  himself  of  the 
faintest  tinge  of  remorse.  He  was  not  fatuous  or 
conceited.  He  did  not  for  a  moment  imagine  that 
the  girl  was  in  love  with  him.  He  attributed  her 
demonstration  in  the  rose-house  to  her  ^congenital 
bad  breeding,"  and  thought  it  only  one  degree  worse 
than  other  match-making  manoeuvres  of  which  he 
had  been  the  object  in  the  different  worlds  he  had 
frequented.  He  gave  himself  no  serious  thought 
about  it,  and  yet  he  was  glad  to  find  an  apparent 
opportunity  to  be  of  use  to  her.  She  was  poor  and 
pretty.  He  had  taken  an  interest  in  her  welfare. 
It  had  not  turned-  out  very  well.  She  had  flung 
herself  into  his  arms  and  been  heartily  kissed.  He 
could  not  help  feeling  there  was  a  balance  against 
him. 

As  he  turned  the  corner  of  the  street  which  led 
to  the  attorney's  office  where  he  was  going,  he  saw 
a  man  standing  by  the  wall  with  his  hat  off,  bowing 
to  him.  He  returned  the  unusual  salutation  and 
passed  on ;  it  was  some  moments  before  he  remem 
bered  that  it  was  one  of  his  colleagues  on  the  Li 
brary  Board.  He  regretted  not  having  stopped  and 
made  the  effort  to  engage  his  vote  for  Maud ;  but, 
on  second  thought,  he  reflected  that  it  would  be  as 
well  to  rely  upon  the  surprise  of  the  three  to  pre 
vent  a  combination  at  the  meeting.  When  he 
reached  the  entrance  of  the  building  where  his  law 
yer's  offices  were,  he  turned,  with  a  sense  of  being 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  147 

pursued  by  a  shuffling  footstep  which  had  hastened 
its  speed  the  last  few  paces,  and  saw  his  colleague 
coming  up  the  steps  after  him  with  a  perspiring  but 
resolute  face. 

"  Hold  on,  Cap,"  he  said,  coming  into  the  shade 
of  the  passage.  "  I  was  thinkin'  o'  comin'  to  see 
you,  when  I  sighted  you  comin'  round  the  corner." 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Pennybaker,"  said 
Arthur,  taking  the  clumsy  hand  which  was  held  out 
to  him. 

"  Gettin'  pretty  hot,  ain't  it  ?"  said  Pennybaker, 
wiping  his  brow  with  his  forefinger  and  dexterously 
sprinkling  the  floor  with  the  proceeds  of  the  action. 

"  No  danger  of  frost,  I  think,"  Arthur  assented, 
admiring  the  dexterity  of  Pennybaker,  but  congrat 
ulating  himself  that  the  shake-hands  was  disposed 
of. 

"  You  bet  your  life.  "We're  going  to  have  it  just 
sizzling  from  now  on." 

"  Were  you  wishing  to  see  me  about  anything  in 
particular  ?"  asked  Farnham,  who  saw  no  other  way 
of  putting  an  end  to  a  meteorological  discussion 
which  did  not  interest  him. 

"Well,  yes,"  answered  Pennybaker,  getting 
around  beside  Farnham,  and  gazing  at  the  wall  op 
posite.  "  I  heerd  this  mornin'  that  Minnie  Bell  was 
goin'  to  get  married.  "My  daughter  is  doing  some 
sewing  for  her,  and  it  slipped  out  that  way.  She 
was  trying  to  keep  it  secret.  Some  girls  is  mighty 
funny  that  way.  They  will  do  anything  to  get  en 
gaged,  and  then  they  will  lie  like  Sam  Hill  to  make 
believe  they  ain't.  Well,  that  makes  a  vacancy." 
He  did  not  turft  his  head,  but  he  cast  a  quick  glance 


148  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

sideways  at  Farnham,  who  made  no  answer,  and 
Pennybaker  resumed  :  "  So  I  thought  I  would  come 
to  you,  honor  bright,  and  see  if  we  couldn't  agree 
what  to  do.  That's  me.  I'm  open  and  square  like 
a  bottle  of  bitters." 

Farnham  gave  no  indication  of  his  surprise  at  this 
burst  of  candor,  but  asked : 

"  What  do  you  propose  ?" 

"That's  it,"  said  Pennybaker,  promptly.  "I 
don't  propose  nothing — I  expose.  You  hear  me — 
I  expose.77  He  said  this  with  great  mystery,  one 
eye  being  shut  fast  and  the  other  only  half  open. 
He  perceived  that  he  had  puzzled  Farnham,  and  en 
joyed  it  for  a  moment  by  repeating  his  mot  with  a 
chuckle  that  did  not  move  a  muscle  of  his  face. 
"  I'll  tell  you  the  whole  thing.  There's  no  use,  be 
tween  gentlemen,  of  playing  the  thing  too  fine." 
He  took  his  knife  from  one  pocket  and  from  an 
other  a  twist  of  tobacco,  and,  cutting  off  a  mouthful, 
began  his  story : 

"  You  see,  me  and  Bud  Merritt  and  Joe  Dorman 
have  most  generally  agreed  on  paternage,  and  that 
was  all  right.  You  are  well  fixed.  You  don't  want 
the  bother  of  them  little  giblets  of  paternage.  We've 
'tended  to  'em  for  what  there  was  in  'em  and  for  the 
good  of  the  party.  Now  Bud  he  wants  to  be  audi 
tor,  and  he's  got  Joe  to  go  in  with  him,  because,  if 
he  gits  there,  Joe's  brother-in-law,  Tim  Dolan,  will 
be  his  debbity.  Bud  is  weak  in  the  Third  Ward, 
and  he  knows  it,  and  he  knows  that  Jake  Runckel 
can  swing  that  ward  like  a  dead  cat ;  and  so  they 
have  fixed  it  all  up  to  give  the  next  vacancy  to  Jake 
for  his  sister.  She's  been  turned  out  of  the  school 


THE   BREAD-WINNEBS.  149 

for  some  skylarking,  and  weighs  pretty  heavy  on 
Jake's  hands.  Yery  well.  That's  the  game,  and 
I'm  a-kickin' !  Do  you  hear  me?  I'm  a-kickin J !" 

Pennybaker  pushed  up  his  hat  and  looked  Farn- 
ham  fairly  in  the  face.  The  assertion  of  his  inde 
pendence  seemed  to  give  him  great  gratification. 
He  said  once  more,  slowly  closing  one  eye  and  set 
tling  back  in  his  former  attitude  against  the  wall, 
while  he  aimed  a  deluge  of  tobacco-juice  at  the  base 
of  the  wall  before  him :  "  I'm  a-kickin5  like  a  Texas 
steer." 

He  waited  a  moment  to  allow  these  impressive 
words  to  have  their  full  effect,  while  Farnham  pre 
served  a  serious  and  attentive  face. 

"  "Well,  this  bein'  the  case,"  continued  Penny- 
baker,  "  I  comes  to  you,  as  one  gentleman  to  an 
other,  and  I  asks  whether  we  can't  agree  against 
this  selfish  and  corrupt  game  of  Merritt  and  Dor- 
man.  For,  you  see,  I  don't  get  a  smell  out  of  what 
they're  doin'.  I'm  out  in  the  cold  if  their  slate  goes 
through." 

"  I  don't  see  that  I  can  be  of  any  service  to  you, 
Mr.  Pennybaker.  If  I  have  any  influence  in  the 
matter,  it  shall  be  given  to  Miss  Matchin,  whom  I 
proposed  once  before." 

"  Exactly  !  Now  you're  talldn'.  Miss  Matchin 
shall  have  it,  on  one  little  proviso  that  won't  hurt 
you  nor  me  nor  nobody.  Say  the  word,  and  it's 
a  whack." 

And  he  lifted  up  his  hand  to  strike  the  bargain. 

"  "What  is  it  ?"  asked  Farnham,  in  a  tone  which 
was  severe  and  contemptuous,  in  spite  of  him. 

"Namely,    just    this,"    answered    Pennybaker. 


150  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

"  You  ain't  on  the  make  ;  you're  fixed.  You  don't 

care  about  these  d little  things  except  to  help  a 

friend  once  'n  awhile,"  he  said,  in  a  large  and  gen 
erous  way.  "  But  I  ain't  that  kind  yet.  I've  got 
to  look  out  for  myself — pretty  lively,  too.  Now, 
I'll  tell  you  what's  my  racket.  You  let  me  perpose 
Miss  Matchin's  name  and  then  go  and  tell  her  father 
that  I  put  it  through,  and  it'll  be  done  slick  as  a 
whistle.  That's  all  solid,  ain't  it?" 

Farnham's  brow  clouded.  He  did  not  answer  at 
once.  Pennybaker  repeated  his  question  a  little 
anxiously : 

"  That's  all  solid,  ain't  it  P 

"  You  will  excuse  me,  Mr.  Pennybaker,  if  I  do 
not  quite  understand  your  racket,  as  you  call  it.  I 
do  not  see  how  you  make  anything  out  of  this. 
Matchin  is  a  poor  man. '  You  surely  do  not  in 
tend " 

"  To  strike  Saul  for  a  divvy  ?  Nothing  of  the 
sort,"  said  Pennybaker,  without  the  least  offence. 
"  The  whole  thing  lies  just  here.  'Among  gentle 
men  there's  no  use  being  shy  about  it.  My  brothr*" 
wants  to  be  assessor  in  Saul  Matchin's  ward.  Saul's 
got  a  lot  of  influence  among  the  boys  in  the  planing- 
mills,  and  I  want  his  help.  You  see  ?" 

Farnham  thought  he  saw, 'and,  after  assenting  to 
Pennybaker's  eager  demand*,  "  That's  all  solid  ?"  he 
walked  away,  too  much  relieved  by  the  thought 
that  Maud  was  provided  for  to  question  too  closely 
the  morality  of  the  proceeding  which  the  sordid 
rascal  had  exposed  to  him. 

In  the  afternoon,  at  the  meeting  of  the  board,  the 
programme  agreed  upon  was  strictly  carried  out 


THE   BREAD-WINKERS.  151 

Pennybaker  proposed  Miss  Matchin's  name  as  soon 
as  the  vacancy  was  announced,  to  the  amazement 
of  his  late  confederates.  They  moved  a  postpone 
ment,  but  to  no  purpose ;  Maud  was  elected ;  and 
the  angry  politicians  had  no  better  revenge  than  to 
say  spitefully  to  Pennybaker  on  the  stairs,  as  they 
went  away,  "  How  much  did  the  Captain  give  you 
for  that  sell-out  ?" — a  jeer  which  he  met  by  a  smile 
of  conscious  rectitude  and  a  request  to  be  informed 
the  next  time  they  organized  a  freeze-out  against 
him.  It  must  be  said,  however,  that  he  lost  no  time 
in  going  to  Matchin,  informing  him  that  he  had 
succeeded  in  carrying  Maud  in  by  unheard-of  exer 
tions,  and  demanding  and  receiving  on  the  spot  five 
per  cent  of  her  year's  salary,  which  he  called  "  the 
usual  commission." 

Saul  announced  the  appointment  that  evening  at 
supper.  Maud  flushed  crimson,  and  the  tears 
started  to  her  eyes.  She  was  about  to  declare  she 
would  not  have  it,  when  her  father's  next  words  put 
a  different  face  on  the  matter.  "  And  it's  no  thanks 
to  Cap'n  Farnham,  neither.  He  tried  it  oncet,  and 
couldn't  make  the  riffle.  But  me  and  Joel  Penny- 
baker  got  together  and  done  it.  And  now  I  hope, 
Mattie,  you'll  behave  yourself  and  save  money.  It's 
like  a  fortun'  comin'  to  you,  if  you're  smart." 

Maud  found  no  reply  *  ready.  She  could  not 
wholly  believe  her  father's  story.  She  still  fancied 
the  appointment  came  from  Farnham,  and  there  was 
a  certain  bitterness  in  it ;  but,  on  the  whole,  she  re 
ceived  it  not  without  a  secret  complacency.  Mrs. 
Matchin's  pleasure  was  checked  by  her  daughter's 
morose  confusion.  Sam -made  no  pretence  of  being 


152  THE  BREAD-WINNERS. 

pleased,  but  sat,  unmoved  by  Matchin's  speech,  in 
scowling  silence,  and  soon  went  out  without  a  word 
of  comment.  The  scene  he  had  witnessed  in  the 
rose-house  had  poisoned  his  mind  ;  yet,  whenever 
he  looked  at  Maud,  or  tried  to  speak  to  her,  he  was 
met  with  an  air  of  such  fierce  and  beautiful  defiance, 
that  his  eyes  fell  and  his  voice  stuck  in  his  throat. 
So  the  piece  of  good  fortune,  so  anxiously  awaited 
in  the  household,  brought  little  delight  when  it 
came.  Maud  reported  for  duty  next  day,  and  soon 
learned  the  routine  of  her  work  ;  but  she  grew  more 
and  more  silent  at  home,  and  Saul's  hope  of  va  wed 
ding  in  the  family  died  away. 

Arthur  Farnham  walked  away  from  the  meeting 
with  the  feeling  of  a  school-boy  who  has  finished  a 
difficult  task  and  who  thinks  he  deserves  some  com 
pensating  pleasure.  The  day  had  been  fine  and1 
warm,  but  the  breeze  of  the  late  afternoon  was  already 
blowing  in  from  the  lake,  lending  freshness  and  life 
to  the  air.  The  sky  was  filled  with  soft  gray  clouds, 
which  sailed  along  at  a  leisurely  rate,  evidently  on 
very  good  terms  with  the  breeze.  As  Farnham 
walked  up  the  avenue,  he  cast  about  in  his  mind 
for  the  sort  of  dissipation  with  which  he  would  re 
ward  himself  for  the  day's  work  and  he  decided  for 
a  ride. 

But  as  he  was  drawing  on  his  boots,  it  occurred* 
to  him,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  that  it  was  a 
churlish  and  unneighborly  proceeding  for  him  to  go 
riding  alone  day  after  day,  and  that  he  would  be  do- , 
ing  no  more  than  his  duty  to  offer  his  escort  to  Miss 
Belding.  He  said  Miss  Belding  to  his  own  thought 
— making  it  as  formal  and  respectful  as  possible. 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  153 

So,  sending  an  order  to  his  groom  to  keep  his  horse 
at  the  stable  for  a  moment,  he  walked  over  the  lawn 
to  the  Belding  cottage  and  asked  for  the  ladies. 

"  I  believe  they  are  upstairs,  sir.  Walk  into  the 
drawing-room,  and  I  will  see,"  said  the  neat  house 
maid,  smiling  at  Farnham,  as  indeed  was  the  general 
custom  of  women.  He  took  his  seat  in  the  cool  and 
darkened  room  facing  the  door-way,  which  com 
manded  a  view  of  the  stairs.  '  He  sat  in  a  large 
willow  chair  very  much  at  his  ease,  looking  about 
the  pretty  salon,  enjoying  its  pictures  and  orna 
ments  and  the  fragrance  of  the  roses  in  the  vases,  as 
if  he  had  a  personal  interest  in  them.  The  maid 
came  back  and  said  the  ladies  would  be  down  in  a 
moment. 

She  had  announced  Farnhain  to  Mrs.  Belding, 
who  had  replied,  "Tell  him,  in  a  moment."  She 
was  in  the  summer  afternoon  concjition  which  the 
ladies  call  "  dressing-sack,"  and  after  an  inspection 
at  the  glass,  which  seemed  unsatisfactory,  she  walked 
across  the  hall  to  her  daughter's  room.  She  found 
Alice  standing  by  the  window,  looking  out  upon  the 
lake. 

"  There,  I  am  glad  you  are  all  dressed.  Arthur 
Farnham  has  called,  and  you  must  go  down  and  ex 
cuse  me.  I  said  I  would  come,  but  it  will  take  me 
so  long  to  dress,  he  will  get  tired  of  waiting.  You 
run  down  and  see  him.  I  suppose  there  is  nothing 
particular." 

"  Oh,  mamma,"  said  Alice,  "  1  don't  want  to  see 
him,  and  especially  not  alone." 

Mrs.  Belding  made  large  eyes  in  her  surprise. 
"  Why,  Alice,  what  has  got  into  you  ?" 


154  THE  BREAD-WINNERS. 

Alice  blushed  and  cast  down  her  eyes.  "  Mamma," 
she  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "  do  not  ask  me  to  go  down. 
You  know  what  you  told  me  last  night." 

"There,  that  will  do,"  said  the  mother,  with  a 
tone  of  authority.  "  Perhaps  I  was  foolish  to  tell 
you  that  silly  little  story,  but  I  am  the  judge  of  who 
shall  visit  this  house.  You  are  too  young  to  decide 
these  questions  for  me,  and  I  insist  that  what  I  told 
you  shall  make  no  difference  in  your  treatment  of 
Mr.  Farnham.  You  think  too  much  of  your  own 
part  in  the  matter.  He  has  come  to  see  me,  and  not 
you,  and  I  wish  you  to  go  down  and  make  my  ex 
cuses  for  keeping  him  waiting.  Will  you  go  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  will  go,"  said  the  young  girl.  The  blush 
had  left  her  cheek  and  she  had  become  a  trifle  pale. 
She  had  not  raised  her  eyes  from  the  floor  during  < 
her  mother's  little  speech ;  and  when  it  was  over 
and  her  mother  had  gone  back  to  her  room,  Alice 
cast  one  glance  at  her  mirror,  and  with  a  firm  face 
walked  down  the  stairs  to  the  drawing-room.  Fam- 
ham  heard  the  rustle  of  her  dress  with  a  beat  in  cj 

O 

of  the  heart  which  filled  him  with  a  delicious  sur 
prise.  "I  am  not  past  it,  then,"  was  the  thought 
that  came  instantly  to  his  mind,  and  in  that  one 
second  was  a  singular  joy.  When  she  came  in  sight 
on  the  stairs,  it  was  like  a  sudden  enchantment  to 
him.  Her  beautiful  head,  crowned  with  its  masses 
of  hair  drawn  back  into  a  simple  Greek  knot ;  her 
tall,  strong  figure,  draped  in  some  light  and  clinging 
stuff  which  imposed  no  check  on  her  natural  grace 
and  dignity,  formed  a  charming  picture  as  she  came 
down  the  long  stairs  ;  and  Farnham's  eyes  fastened 
eagerly  upon  her  white  hand  as  it  glided  along  the 


THE   BREAD-WIK^ERS.  155 

dark  walnut  baluster.  His  heart  went  out  to  meet 
her.  He  confessed  to  himself,  with  a  lover's  in 
stantaneous  conviction,  that  there  was  nothing  in  the 
world  so  utterly  desirable  as  that  tall  and  fair-haired 
girl  slowly  descending  the  stairs.  In  the  midst  of 
his  tumultuous  feeling  a  trivial  thought  occurred  to 
him :  "  I  am  shot  through  the  heart  by  the  blind 
archer,"  he  said  to  himself;  and  he  no  longer 
laughed  at  the  old-fashioned  symbol  of  the  sudden 
and  fatal  power  of  love. 

But  with  all  this  tumult  of  joy  in  the  senses  waking 
up  to  their  allegiance,  there  came  a  certain  reserve 
The  goddess-like  creature  who  had  so  suddenly  be 
come  the  mistress  of  his  soul  was  a  very  serious  per 
sonage  to  confront  in  her  new  majesty.  He  did  not 
follow  the  impulse  of  his  heart  and  rush  forward  as 
she  entered  the  room.  He  merely  rose  and  bowed. 
She  made  the  faintest  possible  salutation,  and,  with 
out  taking  a  seat,  conveyed  her  mother's  excuses  in 
a  tone  of  such  studied  coldness  that  it  amused  Farn- 
ham,  who  took  it  as  a  school-girl's  assumption  of  a 
grand  and  ceremonious  manner  suitable  to  a  tete-a- 
tete  with  man. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said,  "  but  I  did  not  come 
especially  to  see  your  mother.  My  object  was  rather 
to  see  you."  She  did  not  smile  or  reply,  and  he 
went  on,  with  a  slight  sensation  of  chill  coming 
upon  him  from  this  stony  dignity,  which,  the  more 
lie  observed  it,  seemed  less  and  less  amusing  and  not 
at  all  artificial.  "  I  came  to  ask  if  you  would  not 
like  to  go  to  ride  this  afternoon.  It  is  just  gray 
enough  for  comfort." 

"  I  thank  you  very  much  for  being  so  kind  as  to 


156  THE   BREAD-W1KNEK8. 

tlnnk  of  me,"  she  replied,  "  but  it  will  not  be  con 
venient  for  me  to  go." 

"Perhaps  the  morning  will  suit  better.  I  will 
come  to-morrow  at  any  hour  you  say." 

"I  shall  not  be  able  to  go  to-morrow  either,  I 
think." 

Even  while  exchanging  these  few  words,  Alice 
felt  herself  growing  slightly  embarrassed,  and  it 
filled  her  with  dismay.  "  I  am  a  poor  creature," 
she  thought,  "  if  I  cannot  get  this  self-satisfied 
gentleman  out  of  the  house  without  breaking  down. 
I  can't  stand  here  forever  though,"  and  so  she  took  a 
seat,  and  as  Arthur  resumed  his  willow  chair  with  an 
air  of  content,  she  could  not  but  feel  that  as  yet  the 
skirmish  was  not  in  her  favor.  She  called  her 
angry  spirit  to  her  aid,  and  nerved  herself  to  say 
something  which  would  promptly  close  the  inter 
view. 

His  next  words  gave  her  the  opportunity. 

"  But  you  surely  do  not  intend  to  give  up  riding 
altogether?" 

"Certainly  not.  I  hope  to  ride  a  good  deal. 
Andrews  will  go  with  me." 

"  Ah !  Your  objection  to  me  as  a  groom  is  en 
tirely  personal,  then." 

"  Now  for  it !"  she  thought  to  herself,  and  she 
said  firmly,  "Yes." 

But  the  effort  was  too  great,  and  after  the  word 
was  launched  her  mouth  broke  up  into  a  nervous 
smile,  for  which  she  despised  herself,  but  which  she 
could  not  control  for  her  life. 

Farnham  was  so  pleased  with  the  smile  that  he 
cared  nothing  for  the  word,  and  so  he  continued  in 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  157 

a  tone  of  anxious  and  coaxing  good-nature,  every 
word  increasing  her  trouble : 

"  You  are  wrong  as  you  can  be.  I  am  a  muck 
better  groom  than  Andrews.  He  has  rather  more 
style,  I  admit,  on  account  of  his  Scotch  accent  and 
his  rheumatism.  But  I  might  acquire  these.  I  will 
be  very  attentive  and  respectful.  I  will  ride  at  a 
proper  distance  behind  you,  if  you  will  occasionally 
throw  a  word  and  a  smile  over  your  shoulder  at 
me." 

As  he  spoke,  a  quick  vision  flashed  upon  him  of 
the  loveliness  of  the  head  and  shoulder,  and  the  coil 
of  fair  hair  which  he  should  have  before  him  if  he 
rode  after  her,  and  the  illumination  of  the  smile 
and  the  wrord  which  would  occasionally  be  thrown 
back  to  him  from  these  perfect  lips  and  teeth  and 
eyes.  His  voice  trembled  with  love  and  eagerness 
as  he  pleaded  for  the  privilege  of  taking  her  ser 
vant's  place.  Alice  no  longer  dared  to  interrupt 
him,  and  hardly  ventured  to  lift  her  eyes  from  the 
floor.  She  had  come  down  with  the  firm  purpose  of 
saying  something  to  him  which  would  put  an  end 
to  all  intimacy,  and  here,  before  she  had  been  five 
minutes  in  his  presence,  he  was  talking  to  her  in  a 
way  that  delighted  her  ears  and  her  heart.  He  went 
rattling  on  as  if  fearful  that  a  pause  might  bring 
a  change  of  mood.  As  she  rarely  looked  up,  he  could 
feast  his  eyes  upon  her  face,  where  now  the  color 
was  coming  and  going,  and  on 'her  shapely  hands, 
which  were  clasped  in  her  lap.  He  talked  of  Colo 
rado  as  if  it  were  settled  that  they  were  to  go  there 
together,  and  they  must  certainly  have  some  pre 
liminary  training  in  rough  riding  ;  and  then,  merely 


158  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

to  make  conversation,  lie  spoke  of  other  places  that 
should  only  be  visited  on  horseback,  always  claim 
ing  in  all  of  them  his  post  of  groom.  Alice  felt 
her  trouble  and  confusion  of  spirit  passing  away  as 
the  light  stream  of  talk  rippled  on.  She  took  little 
part  in  it  at  first,  but  from  monosyllables  of  assent 
she  passed  on  to  a  word  of  reply  from  time  to  time; 
and  before  she  knew  how  it  happened  she  was  en 
gaged  in  a  frank  and  hearty  interchange  of  thoughts 
and  fancies,  which  brought  her  best  faculties  into 
play  and  made  her  content  with  herself,  in  spite  of 
the  occasional  intrusion  of  the  idea  that  she  had  not 
been  true  to  herself  in  letting  her  just  anger  die  so 
quickly  away. 

If  Farnham  could  have  seen  into  the  proud  and 
honest  heart  of  the  young  girl  he  was  talking  to, 
he  would  have  rested  on  the  field  he  had  won,  and 
not  tempted  a  further  adventure.  Her  anger  against 
him  had  been  dissipated  by  the  very  effort  she  had 
made  to  give  it  effect,  and  she  had  fallen  insensibly 
into  the  old  relation  of  good  neighborhood  and  un 
reserved  admiration  with  which  she  had  always  re 
garded  him.  She  had  silenced  her  scruples  by  the 
thought  that  in  talking  pleasantly  with  him  she  was 
obeying  her  mother,  and  that  after  all  it  was  not  her 
business  to  judge  him.  If  he  could  have  known 
his  own  best  interest,  he  would  have  left  her  then, 
when  her  voice  and  her  smile  had  become  gay  and 
unembarrassed  according  to  their  wont,  with  her  con 
science  at  ease  about  his  faults,  and  her  mind  filled 
with  a  pleasant  memory  of  his  visit. 

But  such  wisdom  was  beyond  his  reach.  He  had 
felt  suddenly,  and  once  for  all,  in  the  last  hour,  the 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  159 

power  and  visible  presence  of  his  love.  He  had 
never  in  his  life  been  so  moved  by  any  passion  as  he 
was  by  the  joy  that  stirred  his  heart  when  he  heard 
the  rustle  of  her  dress  in  the  hall  and  saw  her  white 
hand  resting  lightly  on  the  dark  wood  of  the  stairs. 
As  she  walked  into  the  parlor,  from  her  face  and 
her  hair,  from  every  movement  of  her  limbs,  from 
every  flutter  of  her  soft  and  gauzy  garments,  there 
came  to  him  an  assertion  of  her  power  over  him 
that  filled  him  with  a  delicious  awe.  She  repre 
sented  to  him,  as  he  had  never  felt  it  before,  the  em 
bodied  mystery  and  majesty  of  womanhood.  Dur 
ing  all  the  long  conversation  that  had  followed,  he 
had  been  conscious  of  a  sort  of  dual  operation  of 
his  mind,  like  that  familiar  to  the  eaters  of  hash 
ish.  With  one  part  of  him  he  had  been  carrying 
on  a  light  and  shallow  conversation,  as  an  excuse  to 
remain  in  her  presence  and  to  keep  his  eyes  upon 
her,  and  with  all  the  more  active  energies  of  his 
being  he  had  been  giving  himself  up  to  an  act  of 
passionate  adoration  of  her.  The  thoughts  that  ut 
tered  themselves  to  him,  as  he  chatted  about  all 
sorts  of  indifferent  things,  were  something  like  these : 
How  can  it  have  ever  happened  that  such  beauty, 
such  dignity,  such  physical  perfection  could  come 
together  in  one  person,  and  the  best  and  sweetest 
heart  have  met  them  there?  If  she  knew  her 
value,  her  pride  would  ruin  her.  In  her  there  is 
everything,  and  everything  else  beside :  Galatea,  the 
statue,  with  a  Christian  soul.  She  is  the  best  that 
could  fall  to  any  man,  but  better  for  me  than  for  any 
one  else.  Anybody  who  sees  her  must  love  her,  but  I 
was  made  for  nothing  else  but  to  love  her.  This  is 


160  THE  BREAD-WINNERS. 

what  mythologies  meant.  She  is  Yenus  :  she  loves 
laughter,  and  her  teeth  and  lips  are  divine.  She  is 
Diana :  she  makes  the  night  beautiful ;  she  has  the 
eye  and  the  arm  of  an  athlete  goddess.  But  she  is 
a  woman :  she  is  Mrs.  Belding's  daughter  Alice. 
Thank  heaven,  she  lives  here.  I  can  call  and  see 
her.  To-morrow,  I  shall  ride  with  her.  She  will 
love  and  many  some  day  like  other  women.  Who 
is  the  man  who  shall  ever  kiss  her  between  those 
straight  brows  ?  And  fancies  more  audacious  and 
extravagant  fed  the  fever  of  his  heart  as  he  talked 
deliberate  small  talk,  still  holding  his  hat  and  whip 
in  his  hand. 

He  knew  it  was  time  he  should  go,  but  could  not 
leave  the  joy  of  his  eyes  and  ears.  At  last  his 
thoughts,  like  a  vase  too  full,  ran  over  into  speech. 
It  was  without  premeditation,  almost  without  con 
scious  intention.  The  under-tone  simply  became 
dominant  and  overwhelmed  the  frivolous  surface 
talk.  She  had  been  talking  of  her  mother's  plans 
of  summer  travel,  and  he  suddenly  interrupted  her 
by  saying  in  the  most  natural  tone  in  the  world : 
"  I  must  see  your  mother  before  she  decides.  I 
hope  you  will  make  no  plans  without  me.  I  shall 
go  where  you  go.  I  shall  never  be  away  from  you 
again,  if  I  can  help  it.  No,  no,  do  not  frown  about 
it.  I  must  tell  you.  I  love  you ;  my  whole  life  is 
yours." 

She  felt  terribly  shocked  and  alarmed,  not  so 
much  at  his  words  as  at  her  own  agitation.  She 
feared  for  a  moment  she  could  not  rise  from  her 
seat,  but  she  did  so  with  an  effort.  He  rose  and 
approached  her,  evidently  held  in  check  by  her  in- 


THE   BREAD-WIKNERS.  161 

flexible  face ;  for  the  crisis  had  brought  a  momen 
tary  self-control  with  it,  and  she  looked  formidable 
with  her  knit  brows  and  closed  lips. 

"  Do  not  go,"  he  pleaded.  "  Do  not  think  I  have 
been  wanting  in  respect  and  consideration.  I  could 
not  help  saying  what  I  did.  I  cannot  live  without 
you  any  more  than  I  can  without  light  and  sun 
shine.  I  ought  to  have  waited  and  not  startled  you. 
But  I  have  only  begun  to  live  since  I  loved  yon, 
and  I  feel  I  must  not  waste  time." 

She  was  deeply  disturbed  at  these  wild  and  whirl 
ing  words,  but  still  bore  herself  bravely.  She  felt 
her  heart  touched  by  the  vibration  of  his  ardent 
speech,  but  her  maiden  instinct  of  self  defence  en 
abled  her  to  stand  on  her  guard.  Though  beaten 
by  the  storm  of  his  devotion,  she  said  to  herself  that 
she  could  get  away  if  she  could  keep  from  crying  or 
sobbing,  and  one  thought  which  came  to  her  with 
the  swiftness  of  lightning  gave  her  strength  to  re 
sist.  It  was  this  :  "  If  I  cry,  he  will  take  me  in  his 
arms,  and  we  shall  repeat  the  tableau  mamma  saw 
in  the  rose-house." 

Strong  in  that  stimulating  thought,  she  said  :  "  I 
am  too  sorry  to  hear  you  say  these  things.  You 
know  how  much  we  have  always  thought  of  you. 
If  you  forget  all  this,  and  never  repeat  it,  we  may 
still  be  friends.  But  if  you  renew  this  subject,  I 
will  never  speak  to  you  again  alone,  as  long  as  I 
live." 

He  began  to  protest ;  but  she  insisted,  with  the 
calm  cruelty  of  'a  woman  who  sees  her  advantage 
over  the  man  she  loves.  "  If  you  say  another  word, 
it  is  the  end  of  our  acquaintance,  and  perhaps  it  is 


162  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

best  that  it  should  end.  We  can  hardly  be  again  as 
we  were." 

Farnham  was  speechless,  like  one  waked  in  the 
cold  air  out  of  a  tropical  dream.  He  had  been  car 
ried  on  for  the  last  hour  in  a  whirlwind  of  emotion, 
and  now  he  had  met  an  obstacle  against  which  it 
seemed  that  nothing  could  be  done.  If  he  had 
planned  his  avowal,  he  might  have  been  prepared 
for  rejection  ;  but  he  had  been  hurried  into  it  with 
no  thought  of  what  the  result  would  be,  and  he  was 
equally  unprovided  for  either  issue.  In  face  of  the 
unwavering  voice  and  bearing  of  Alice,  who  seemed 
ten  times  more  beautiful  than  ever  as  she  stood  be 
fore  him  as  steady  and  unresponsive  as  a  young 
Fate,  his  hot  speech  seemed  suddenly  smitten  pow 
erless.  He  only  said : 

"  It  shall  be  as  you  wish.  If  I  ever  offend  you 
again,  I  will  take  my  punishment  upon  myself  and 
get  out  of  your  way." 

She  did  not  dare  to  say  another  word,  for  fear  it 
would  be  too  kind.  She  gave  him  her  hand  ;  it 
was  soft  and  warm  as  he  pressed  it ;  and  if  he  had 
only  known  how  much  softer  and  warmer  her  heart 
was,  he  would  have  covered  her  hand  with  a  thou 
sand  kisses.  But  he  bowed  and  took  his  leave,  and 
she  stood  by  the  lattice  and  saw  him  go  away,  with 
eyes  full  of  tears  and  a  breast  filled  with  the  tender- 
est  ruth  and  pity — for  him  and  for  herself. 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  163 


XL 

THE  SANTA  RITA  SHERRY. 

FARNHAM  walked  down  the  path  to  the  gate,  then 
turned  to  go  to  his  own  house,  with  no  very  definite 
idea  of  what  direction  he  was  taking.  The  inter' 
view  he  had  just  had  was  still  powerfully  affectihg 
his  senses.  He  was  conscious  of  no  depression  from 
the  prompt  and  decided  refusal  he  had  received. 
He  was  like  a  soldier  in  his  first  battle  who  has 
got  a  sharp  wound  which  does  not  immediately 
cripple  him,  the  perception  of  which  is  lost  in 
the  enjoyment  of  a  new,  keen,  and  enthralling  ex 
perience.  His  thoughts  were  full  of  his  own  avowal, 
of  the  beauty  of  his  young  mistress,  rather  than  of 
her  coldness.  Seeing  his  riding-whip  in  his  hand, 
he  stared  at  it  an  instant,  and  then  at  his  boots,  with 
a  sudden  recollection  that  he  had  intended  to  ride. 
He  walked  rapidly  to  the  stable,  where  his  horse 
was  still  waiting,  and  rode  at  a  brisk  trot  out  of  the 
avenue  for  a  few  blocks,  and  then  struck  off  into  a 
sandy  path  that  led  to  the  woods  by  the  river-side. 

A.S  he  rode,  his  thoughts  were  at  first  more  of 
"himself  than  of  Alice.  He  exulted  over  the  dis 
covery  that  he  was  in  love  as  if  some  great  and  un- 
imagined  good  fortune  had  happened  to  him.  "  I 
am  not  past  it,  then,"  he  said  to  himself,  repeating 
the  phrase  which  had  leaped  from  his  heart  when 
he  saw  Alice  descending  the  stairs.  "  I  hardly 


164  THE  BREAD-WINKERS. 

thought  that  such  a  thing  could  ever  happen  to  me. 
She  is  the  only  one."  His  thoughts  ran  back  to  a 
night  in  Heidelberg,  when  he  sat  in  the  shadow  of 
the  castle  wall  with  a  German  student  of  his  ac 
quaintance,  and  looked  far  over  the  valley  at  the 
lights  of  the  town  and  the  rippling  waves  of  the 
Neckar,  silvered  by  the  soft  radiance  of  the  summer 
moon. 

"  Poor  Hammerstein  !  How  he  raved  that  night 
about  little  Bertha  von  Eichholz.  He  called  her 
Die  Einziqe  something  like  a  thousand  times.  It 
seemed  an  absurd  thing  to  say  ;  I  knew  dozens  just 
like  her,  with  blue  eyes  and  Gretchen  braids.  But 
Hammerstein  meant  it,  for  he  shot  himself  the  week 
after  her  wedding  with  the  assessor.  But  mine  is 
the  Only  One — though  she  is  not  mine.  I  would 
rather  love  her  -without  hope  than  be  loved  by  any 
other  woman  in  the  world." 

A  few  days  before  he  had  been  made  happy  by 
perceiving  that  she  was  no  longer  a  child  ;  now  he 
took  infinite  pleasure  in  the  thought  of  her  youth ; 
he  filled  his  mind  and  his  senses  with  the  image  of 
her  freshness,  her  clear,  pure  color,  the  outline  of 
her  face  and  form.  "  She  is  young  and  fragrant  as 
spring ;  she  has  every  bloom  and  charm  of  body  and 
soul,"  he  said  to  himself,  as  he  galloped  over  the 
shady  woodland  road.  In  his  exalted  mood,  he  had 
almost  forgotten  how  he  had  left  her  presence.  He 
delighted  in  his  own  roused  and  wakened  passion, 
as  a  devotee  in  his  devotions,  without  considering 
what  was  to  come  of  it  all.  The  blood  was  surging 
through  his  veins.  He  was  too  strong,  his  love  was 
too  new  and  wonderful  to  him,  to  leave  any  chance 


THE  BREAD-WINNERS.  165 

for  despair.  It  was  not  that  lie  did  not  consider 
himself  dismissed.  He  felt  that  he  had  played  a 
great  stake  foolishly,  and  lost.  But  the  love  was 
there,  and  it  warmed  and  cheered  his  heart,  like  a 
fire  in  a  great  hall,  making  even  the  gloom  noble. 

He  was  threading  a  bridle-path  which  led  up  a 
gentle  ascent  to  a  hill  overlooking  the  river,  when 
his  horse  suddenly  started  back  with  a  snort  of  ter 
ror  as  two  men  emerged  from  the  thicket  and 
grasped  at  his  rein.  He  raised  his  whip  to  strike 
one  of  them  down ;  the  man  dodged,  and  his  com 
panion  said,  "  None  o'  that,  or  I'll  shoot  your  horse." 
The  sun  had  set,  but  it  was  yet  light,  and  he  saw 
that  the  fellow  had  a  cocked  revolver  in  his  hand. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  want  ?"  he  asked. 

"  I  want  you  to  stop  where  you  are  and  go  back," 
said  the  man  sullenly. 

"Why  should  I  go.  back?  My  road  lies  the 
other  way.  You  step  aside  and  let  me  pass." 

"  You  can't  pass  this  way.  Go  back,  or  I'll  make 
you,"  the  man  growled,  shifting  his  pistol  to  his  left 
hand  and  seizing  Farnham's  rein  with  his  right. 
His  intention  evidently  was  to  turn  the  horse  around 
and  start  him  down  the  path  by  which  he  had  come. 
Farnham  saw  his  opportunity  and  struck  the  hand 
that  held  the  pistol  a  smart  blow.  The  weapon 
dropped,  but  went  off  with  a  sharp  report  as  it  fell. 
The  horse  reared  and  plunged,  but  the  man  held 
firmly  to  the  rein.  His  companion,  joined  by  two 
or  three  other  rough-looking  men  who  rushed  from 
the  thicket,  seized  the  horse  and  held  him  firmly, 
and  pulled  Farnham  from  the  saddle.  They  at 
tempted  no  violence  and  no  robbery.  The  man  who 


166  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

had  held  the  pistol,  a  black-visaged  fellow  with  a  red 
face  and  dyed  mustache,  after  rubbing  his  knuckles 

a  moment,  said :  "  Let's  take  it  out  o'  the 

whelp  !"  But  another,  to  whom  the  rest  seemed  to 
look  as  a  leader,  said:  "Go  slow,  Mr.  Bowersox; 
we  want  no  trouble  here." 

Farnham  at  this  addressed  the  last  speaker  and 
said,  "  Can  you  tell  me  what  all  this  means  ?  You 
don't  seem  to  be  murderers.  Are  you  horse- 
thieves  ?" 

"  Nothing  of  the  kind,"  said  the  man.  "  We  are 
Reformers." 

Farnham  gazed  at  him  with  amazement.  He  was 
a  dirty-looking  man,  young  and  sinewy,  with  long 
and  oily  hair  and  threadbare  clothes,  shiny- and 
unctuous.  His  eyes  were  red  and  furtive,  and  he 
had  a  trick  of  ^  passing  his  hand  over  his  mouth 
while  he  spoke.  His  mates  stood  around  him,  list 
ening  rather  stiMidly  to  the  conversation.  They 
seemed  of  the  lower  class  of  laboring  men.  Their 
appearance  was  so  grotesque,  in  connection  with  the 
lofty  title  their  chief  had  given  them,  that  Farnham 
could  not  help  smiling,  in  spite  of  his  anger. 

"  What  is  your  special  line  of  reform  ?"  he  asked, 
— "spelling,  or  civil  service?" 

"  "We  are  Labor  Reformers,"  said  the  spokesman. 
"We  represent  the  toiling  millions  against  the 
bloated  capitalists  and  grinding  monopolies ;  we  be 
lieve  that  man  is  better " 

"  Yes,  no  doubt,'.'  interrupted  Farnham ;  "  but 
how  are  you  going  to  help  the  toiling  millions  by 
stopping  my  horse  on  the  highway  $" 

"We  was  holding  a  meeting   which   was  kep1 


THE   BREAD-WINKERS.  167 

secret  for  reasons  satisfactory  to  ourselves.  These 
two  gentlemen  was  posted  here  to  keep  out  in 
truders  from  the  lodge.  If  you  had  'a'  spoke  civil 
to  them,  there  would  have  been  no  harm  done. 
None  will  be  done  now  if  you  want  to  go." 

Farnham  at  once  mounted  his  horse.  "  I  would 
take  it  as  a  great  favor,"  he  said,  "  if  you  would  give 
me  your  name  and  that  of  the  gentleman  with  the 
pistol.  "Where  is  he,  by  the  way?"  he  continued. 
The  man  they  called  Bowersox  had  disappeared 
from  the  group  around  the  spokesman.  Farnham 
turned  and  saw  him  a  little  distance  away  directly 
behind  him.  He  had  repossessed  himself  of  his 
pistol  and  held  it  cocked  in  his  hand.  » 

"  "What  do  you  want  of  our  names  ?"  the  spokes 
man  asked. 

Farnham  did  not  again  lose  sight  of  Bowersox. 
It  occurred  to  him  that  the  interview  might  as  well 
be  closed.  He  therefore  said,  carelessly,  without 
turning : 

"A  man  has  a  natural  curiosity  to  know  the 
names  of  new  acquaintances.  But  no  matterjjmp- 
pose  the  police  know  you,"  and  rode  away. 

Bowersox  turned  to  Offitt  and  said,  "  "Why  in 

did  you  let  him  go  ?  I  could  "have  knocked  his  head 
off  and  nobody  knowed  it." 

"  Yes,"  said  Offitt,  coolly,  "  and  got  hung  for  it." 

"  It  would  have  been  self-defence,"  said  Bower 
sox.  "  He  hit  me  first." 

"Well,  gentlemen,"  said  Offitt,  "that  closes  up 
Greenwood  Lodge.  "We  can't  meet  in  this  grass 
any  more.  I  don't  suppose  he  knows  any  of  us  by 
sight,  or  he'd  have  us  up  to-morrow." 


168  THE   BREAD-WINNEBS. 

"It  was  a  piece  of  nonsense,  comin'  out 

here,  anyhow,"  growled  Bowersox,  unwilling  to  be 

placated.  "  You  haven't  done  a thing  but  lay 

around  on  the  grass  and  eat  peanuts  and  hear  Eott 
chin." 

"Brother  Bott  has  delivered  a  splendid  address 
on  <  The  Religion  of  Nature,'  and  he  couldn't  have 
had  a  better  hall  than  the  Canopy  to  give  it  under," 
said  Offitt.  "  And  now,  gentlemen,  we'd  better  get 
back  our  own  way." 

As  Farnham  rode  home  he  was  not  much  puzzled 
by  his  adventure  in  the  woods.  He  remembered 
having  belonged,  when  he  was  a  child  of  ten,  to  a 
weird  and  mysterious  confraternity  called  "Early 
Druids,"  which  met  in  the  depths  of  groves,  with  ill- 
defined  purposes,  and  devoted  the  hours  of  meeting 
principally  to  the*  consumption  of  confectionery. 
He  had  heard  for  the,  past  few  months  of  the  exist 
ence  of  secret  organizations  of  working-men — 
wholly  outside  of  the  trades-unions  and  unconnected 
with  them — and  guessed  at  once  that  he  had  dis 
turbed  a  lodge  of  one  of  these  clubs.  His  resent 
ment  did  not  last  very  long  at  the  treatment  to 
which  he  had  been  subjected ;  but  still  he  thought 
it  was  not  a  matter  of  jest  to  have  the  roads  ob 
structed  by  ruffians  with  theories  in  their  heads  and 
revolvers  in  their  hands,  neither  of  which  they  knew 
how  to  use.  He  therefore  promised  himself  to  con 
sult  with  the  chief  of  police  the  next  morning  in 
regard  to  the  matter. 

As  he  rode  along,  thinking  of  the  occurrence,  he 
was  dimly  conscious  of  a  pleasant  suggestion  in 
something  he  had  seen  among  the  hazel  brush,  and 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  169 

searching  tenaciously  in  his  recollection  of  the  affair, 
it  all  at  once  occurred  to  him  that,  among  the  faces 
of  the  men  who  came  out  of  the  thicket  in  the  scuf 
fle,  was  that  of  the  blonde-bearded,  blue-eyed  young 
carpenter  who  had  been  at  work  in  his  library  the 
day  Mrs.  Belding  and  Alice  lunched  with  him.  He 
was  pleased  to  find  that  the  pleasant  association  led 
him  to  memories  of  his  love,  but  for  a  moment  a 
cloud  passed  over  him  at  the  thought  of  so  frank 
and  hearty  a  fellow  and  such  a  good  workman  being 
in  such  company.  "  I  must  see  if  I  cannot  get  him 
out  of  it,"  he  said  to  himself,  and  then  reverted 
again  to  thoughts  of  Alice. 

Twilight  was  falling,  and  its  melancholy  influence 
was  beginning  to  affect  him.  He  thought  less  and 
less  of  the  joy  of  his  love  and  more  of  its  hopeless 
ness.  By  the  time  he  reached  his  house  he  had  be 
gun  to  confront  the  possibility  of  a  life  of  renuncia 
tion,  and,  after  the  manner  of  Americans  of  fortune 
who  have  no  special  ties,  his  mind  turned  naturally 
to  Europe.  "  I  cannot  stay  here  to  annoy  her,"  he 
thought,  and  so  began  to  plot  for  the  summer  and 
winter,  and,  in  fancy,  was  at  the  second  cataract 
of  the  Nile  before  his  horse's  hoofs,  ringing  on 
the  asphalt  of  the  stable-yard,  recalled  him  to  him 
self. 

The  next  day,  he  was  compelled  to  go  to  New 
York  to  attend  to  some  matters  of  business.  Before 
taking  the  train,  he  laid  his  complaint  of  being 
stopped  on  the  road  before  the  chief  of  police,  who 
promised  to  make  vigorous  inquisition.  Farnham 
remained  several  days,m  New  York,  and  on  his  re 
turn,  one  warm,  bright  evening,  he  found  his  table 


170  THE   BREAD- WINKERS. 

prepared  and  tlie  grave  Budsey  waiting  behind  his 
chair. 

He  ate  his  dinner  hastily  and  in  silence,  with  no 
great  zest.  "  You  have  not  forgot,  sir,"  said  Bud- 
Bey,  who  was  his  external  conscience  in  social  mat 
ters,  "that  you  are  going  this  evening  to  Mrs. 
Temple's?" 

"  I  think  I  shall  not  go." 

"  Mr.  Temple  was  here  this  afternoon,  sir,  which 
he  said  it  was  most  particular.  I  asked  him  would 
he  call  again.  He  said  no,  he  was  sure  of  seeing  you 
to-night.  But  it  was  most  particular,  he  said." 

Budsey  spoke  in  the  tone  of  solemn  and  respect 
ful  tyranny  which  he  always  assumed  when  remind 
ing  Farnham  of  his  social  duties,  and  which  con 
veyed  a  sort  of  impression  to  his  master  that,  if  he 
did  not  do  what  was  befitting,  his  butler  was  quite 
capable  of  picking  him  up  and  deferentially  carry 
ing  him  to  the  scene  of  festivity,  and  depositing  him 
on  the  door-step.  ' 

"  What  could  Temple  want  to  see  me  about  c  most 
particular'  ?"  Farnham  asked  himself.  "After  all, 
I  may  as  well  pass  the  evening  there  as  anywhere." 

Mr.  Temple  \vas  one  of  the  leading  citizens  of 
Buffland.  He  was  the  vice-president  of  the  great 
rolling-mill  company,  whose  smoke  darkened  the  air 
by  day  and  lighted  up  the  skies  at  night  as  with  the 
flames  of  the  nether  pit.  He  was  very  tall  and  very 
slender,  with  reddish-brown  hair,  eyes  and  mustache. 
Though  a  man  of  middle  age,  his  trim  figure,  his 
fashionable  dress,  and  his  clean  shaven  cheek  and 
chin  gave  him  an  appearance  of  youth.  He  was 
president  of  the  local  jockey  club,  and  the  joy  cf 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  171 

his  life  was  to  take  his  place  in  the  judges'  stand, 
and  sway  the  destinies  of  the  lean,  keen-faced  train 
ers  who  drove  the  trotting  horses.  He  had  the  eye 
of  a  lynx  for  the  detection  of  any  crookedness  in 
driving,  and  his  voice  would  ring  out  over  the  track 
like  the  trump  of  doom,  conveying  fines  and  penal 
ties  to  the  luckless  trickster  who  was  trying  to  get 
some  unfair  advantage  in  the  start.  His  voice,  a 
deep  basso,  rarely  was  heard,  in  fact,  anywhere  else. 
Though  excessively  social,  he  was  also  extremely  si 
lent.  He  gave  delightful  dinner-parties  and  a  great 
many  of  them,  but  rarely  spoke,  except  to  recom 
mend  an  especially  desirable  wine  to  a  favored  guest. 
When  he  did  speak,  however,  his  profanity  was 
phenomenal.  Every  second  word  was  an  oath.  To 
those  who  were  not  shocked  by  it  there  was  nothing 
more  droll  and  incongruous  than  to  hear  this  quiet, 
reserved,  well-dressed,  gentleman-like  person  pour 
ing  out,  on  the  rare  occasions  when  he  talked  freely, 
in  a  deep,  measured,  monotonous  tone,  a  flood  of 
imprecations  which  would  have  made  a  pirate  hang 
his  head.  He  had  been,  as  a  boy,  clerk  on  a  Missis 
sippi  River  steamboat,  and  a  vacancy  occurring  in 
the  office  of  mate,  he  had  I/e'en  promoted  to  that 
place.  His  youthful  face  and  quiet  speech  did  not 
sufficiently  impose  upon  the  rough  deck-hands  of 
that  early  day.  They  had  been  accustomed  to 
harsher  modes  of  address,  and,  he  saw  his  authority 
defied  and  in  danger.  So  he  set  himself  seriously 
to  work  to  learn  to  swear ;  and  though  at  first  it 
made  his  heart  shiver  a  little  with  horror  and  his 
cheek  burn  with  shame,  he  persevered,  as  a  matter 
of  business,  until  his  execrations  amazed  the  rousta- 


172  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

bouts.  When  lie  had  made  a  fortune,  owned  a  line 
of  steamboats,  and  finally  retired  from  the  river, 
the  habit  had  been  fastened  upon  him,  and  oaths 
became  to  him  the  only  form  of  emphatic  speech. 
The  hardest  work  he  ever  did  in  his  life  was,  while 
courting  his  wife,  a  Miss  Flora  Ballston,  of  Cincin 
nati,  to  keep  from  mingling  his  ordinary  forms  of 
emphasis  in  his  asseverations  of  affection.  But  af 
ter  he  was  married,  and  thrown  more  and  more  into 
the  company  of  women,  that  additional  sense,  so 
remarkable  in  men  of  his  mould,  came  to  him,  and  he 
never  lapsed,  in  their  presence,  into  his  natural  way 
of  speech.  Perhaps  this  was  the  easier,  as  he  rarely 
spoke  at  all  when  they  were  by — not  that  he  was  in 
the  least  shy  or  timid,  but  because  they,  as  a  rule, 
knew  nothing  about  'stocks,  or  pig-iron,  or  wine,  or 
trotting  horses, — the  only  subjects,  in  his  opinion, 
which  could  interest  an^  reasonable  creature. 

When  Farnham  arrived  at  his  house,  it  was 
already  pretty  well  filled  with  guests.  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Temple  were  at  tjie  door,  shaking  hands  with 
their  friends  as  they  arrived,  she  with  a  pleasant 
smile  and  word  from  her  black  eyes  and  laughing 
mouth,  and  he  in  grave  and  speechless  hospitality. 

"  Good-evening,  Mr.  Farnham !"  said  the  good- 
natured  lady.  "  So  glad  to  see  you.  I  began  to  be 
alarmed.  So  did  the  young  ladies.  They  were 
afraid  you  had  not  returned.  Show  yourself  in  the 
drawing-room  and  dispel  their  fears.  Oh,  Mr.  Har 
rison,  I  am  so  glad  you  resolved  to  stay  over." 

Farnham  gave  way  to  the  next  comer,  and  said 
to  Mr.  Temple,  who  had  pressed  his  hand  in 
silence : 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  173 

"Did  you  want  to  see  me  for  anything  special 
to-day?" 

Mrs.  Temple  looked  up  at  the  word,  and  her 
husband  said: 

"  No ;  I  merely  wanted  you  to  take  a  drive  with 
me." 

Another  arrival  claimed  Mrs.  Temple's  attention, 
and  as  Farnham  moved  away,  Temple  half-whis 
pered  in  his  ear,  "  Don't  go  away  till  I  get  a  chance 
to  speak  to  you.  There  is  merry  and  particular 
bloom  of  h —  to  pay." 

The  phrase,  while  vivid,  was  not  descriptive,  and 
Farnham  could  not  guess  what  it  meant.  Perhaps 
something  had  gone  wrong  in  the  jockey  club; 
perhaps  Goldsmith  Maid  was  off  her  feed  ;  perhaps 
pig-iron  had  gone  up  or  down  a  dollar  a  ton. 
These  were  all  subjects  of  profound  interest  to 
Temple  and  much  less  to  Farnham ;  so  he  waited 
patiently  the  hour  of  revelation,  and  looked  about 
the  drawing-room  to  see  who  was  there. 

It  was  the  usual  drawing-room  of  provincial  cities. 
The  sofas  and  chairs  were-  mostly  occupied  by  mar 
ried  women,  who  drew  a  scanty  entertainment 
from  gossip  with  each  other,  from  wratching  the 
proceedings  of  the  spinsters,  and  'chiefly,  perhaps, 
from  a  consciousness  of  good  clothes.  The  married 
men  stood  grouped  in  corners  and  talked  of  their 
every-day  affairs.  The  young  people  clustered  to 
gether  in  little  knots,  governed  more  or  less  by  natu 
ral  selection — only  the  veterans  of  several  seasons 
pairing  off  into  the  discreet  retirement  of  stairs  and 
hall  angles.  At  the  further  end  of  the  long  draw 
ing-room,  Faniham's  eyes  at  last  lighted  upon  the 


174  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

object  of  his  quest.  Alice  sat  in  the  midst  of  a 
group  of  young  girls  who  had  intrenched  themselves 
in  a  corner  of  the  room,  and  defied  all  the  efforts  of 
skirmishing  youths,  intent  upon  flirtation,  to  dislodge 
them.  They  seemed  to  be  amusing  themselves 
very  well  together,  and  the  correct  young  men  in 
white  cravats  and  pointed  shoes  came,  chatted,  and 
drifted  away.  They  were  the  brightest  and  gayest 
young  girls  of  the  place  ;  and  it  would  have  been 
hard  to  detect  any  local  color  in  them.  Young  as 
they  were,  they  had  all  had  seasons  in  Paris  and  in 
"Washington ;  some  of  them  knew  the  life  of  that 
mo.st  foreign  of  all  capitals,  New  York.  They  nearly 
all  spoke  French  and  German  better  than  they  did 
English,  for  their  accent  in  those  languages  was 
very  sweet  and  winning  in  its  incorrectness,  while 
their  English  was  high-pitched  and  nasal,  and  a  lit 
tle  too  loud  in  company.  They  were  as  pretty  as 
girls  are  anywhere,  and  they  wore  dresses  designed 
by  Mr.  Worth,  or  his  New  York  rivals,  Loque  and 
Chiffon;  but  they  occasionally  looked  across  the 
room  with  candid  and  intelligent  envy  at  maidens 
of  less  pretensions,  who  were  better  dressed  by  the 
local  artists. 

Farnham  was  stopped  at  some  distance  from  the 
pretty  group  by  a  buxom  woman  standing  near  the 
open  window,  cooling  the  vast  spread  of  her  bare 
shoulders  in  a  current  of  air,  which  she  assisted  in 
its  office  with  a  red-and-gold  Japanese  fan. 

"  Captain  Farnham,"  she  said,  "  when  are  you 
going  to  give  that  lawn-tennis  party  you  promised 
so  long  ago  ?  My  character  for  veracity  depends 
on  it.  I  have  told  everybody  it  would  be  soon, 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  175 

and  I  shall  be  disgraced  if  it  is  delayed  much 
longer." 

"  That  is  the  common  lot  of  prophets,  Mrs.  Adip- 
son,"  replied  Farnhara.  "  You  know  they  say  in 
Wall  Street  that  early  and  exclusive  information 
will  ruin  any  man.  But  tell  me,  how  is  your  club 
getting  on  ?"  he  continued  disingenuously,  for  he 
had  not  the  slightest  interest  in  the  club ;  but  he 
knew  that  once  fairly  started  on  the  subject,  Mrs. 
Adipson  would  talk  indefinitely,  and  he  might 
stand  there  and  torture  his  heart  and  delight  his 
eyes  with  the  beauty  of  Alice  Belding. 

He  carried  his  abstraction  a  little  too  far,  how 
ever,  for  the  good  lady  soon  perceived,  from  his 
wandering  looks  and  vague  replies,  that  she  was  not 
holding  his  attention.  So  she  pettishly  released 
him  after  following  the  direction  of  his  eyes,  and 
said,  "  There,  I  see  you  are  crazy  to  go  and  talk  to 
Miss  Dallas.  I  won't  detain  you.  She  is  awfully 
clever,  I  suppose,  though  she  never  took  the  trouble 
to  be  brilliant  in  my  presence ;  and  she  is  pretty 
when  she  wears  her  hair  that  way — I  never  liked 
those  frizzes." 

Farnham  accepted  his  release  with  perhaps  a  little 
more  gratitude  than  courtesy,  and  moved  away  to 
take  a  seat  which  had  just  been  vacated  beside  Miss 
Dallas.  He  was  filled  with  a  boyish/clelight  in  Mrs. 
Adipson's  error.  "  That  she  should  think  I  was 
worshipping  Miss  Dallas  from  afar!  Where  do 
women  keep  their  eyes?  To  think  that  anybody 
should  look  at  Miss  Dallas  when  Alice  Belding  was 
sitting  beside  her."  It  was  pleasant  to  think,  how 
ever,  that  the  secret  of  his  unhappy  love  was  safe. 


176  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

Nobody  was  gossiping  about  it,  and  using  the  name 
of  his  beloved  in  idle  conjectures.  That  was  as  it 
should  be.  His  love  was  sacred  from  rude  comment. 
He  could  go  and  sit  by  Miss  Dallas,  so  near  his  be 
loved  that  he  could  see  every  breath  move  the  lace 
on  her  bosom.  He  could  watch  the  color  come  and 
go  on  her  young  cheek.  He  could  hear  every  word 
her  sweet  voice  uttered,  and  nobody  would  know  he 
was  conscious  of  her  existence. 

Full  of  this  thought,  he  sat  down  by  Miss  Dallas, 
who  greeted  him  warmly  and  turned  her  back  upon 
her  friends.  By  looking  over  her  shining  white 
shoulder,  he  could  see  the  clear,  pure  profile  of 
Alice  just  beyond,  so  near  that  he  could  have  laid 
his  hand  on  the  crinkled  gold  of  her  hair.  He  then 
gave  himself  up  to  that  duplex  act  to  which  all  un- 
avowed  lovers  are  prone — the  simultaneous  secret 
worship  of  one  woman  and  open  devotion  to  another. 
It  never  occurred  to  him  that  there  was  any  tiling 
unfair  in  this,  or  that  it  would  be  as  reprehensible 
to  throw  the  name  of  Miss  Dallas  into  the  arena  of 
gossip  as  that  of  Miss  Belding.  That  was  not  his 
affair ;  there  was  only  one  person  in  the  universe  to 
be  considered  by  him.  And  for  Miss  Dallas' s  part, 
she  was  the  last  person  in  the  world  to  suspect  any 
one  of  being  capable  of  the  treason  and  bad  taste  of 
looking  over  her  shoulder  at  another  woman.  She 
was,  by  common  consent,  the  belle  of  Buffland.  Her 
father  was  a  widowed  clergyman,  of  good  estate,  of 
literary  tendencies,  of  enormous  personal  vanity, 
who  had  abandoned  the  pulpit  in  a  quarrel  with  his 
session  several  years  before,  and  now  occupied  him 
self  in  writing  poems  ano!  sketches  of  an  amorous 


THE   BREAD-WINKERS.  177 

and  pietistic  nature,  which  in  his  opinion  embodied 
the  best  qualities  of  Swinburne  and  Chalmers  com 
bined,  but  which  the  magazines  had  thus  far  steadily 
refused  to  print. 

He  felt  himself  infinitely  superior  to  the  society 
of  Buffland, — with  one  exception, — and  only  re 
mained  there  because  his  property  was  not  easily 
negotiable  and  required  his  personal  care.  The  one 
exception  was  his  daughter  Euphrasia.  He  had 
educated  her  after  his  own  image.  In  fact,  there 
was  a  remarkable  physical  likeness  between  them, 
and  he  had  impressed  upon  her  every  trick  of  speech 
and  manner  and  thought  which  characterized  him 
self.  This  is  the  young  lady  who  turns  her  bright, 
keen,  beautiful  face  upon  Farnham,  with  eyes  eager 
to  criticise,  a  tongue  quick  to  flatter  and  to  condemn, 
a  head  stuffed  full  of  poetry  and  artificial  passion, 
and  a  heart  saved  from  all  danger  by  its  idolatry  of 
her  father  and  herself.  , 

"  So  glad  to  see  you — one  sees  so  little  of  you — 
I  can  hardly  believe  my  good  fortune — how  have  I 
this  honor?"  All  this  in  hard,  rapid  sentences,  with 
a  brilliant  smile. 

Farnham  thought  of  the  last  words  of  Mrs.  Adip- 
son,  and  said,  intrepidly,  "Well,  you  know  the 
poets  better  than  I  do,  Miss  Euphrasia,  and  there  is 
somebody  who  says, '  Beauty  draws  us  by  the  simple 
way  she  does  her  hair ' — or  something  like  it.  That 
classic  fillet  was  the  first  thing  I  saw  as  I  entered 
the  room,  and  me  void  /" 

We  have  already  said  that  the  fault  of  Farnham's 
conversation  with  women  was  the  soldier's  fault  of 
direct  and  indiscriminate  compliment.  But  this 
12 


178  THE   BREAD-WINKERS. 

was  too  much  in  Euplirasia's  manner  for  her  to  ob 
ject  to  it.  She  laughed  and  said,  "  You  deserve  a 
pensum  of  fifty  lines  for  such  a  misquotation.  But, 
dites-donc,  monsieur" — for  French  was  one  of  her 
favorite  affectations,  and  when  she  found  a  man  to 
speak  it  with,  she  rode  the  occasion  to  death.  There 
had  been  a  crisis  in  the  French  ministry  a  few  days 
before,  and  she  now  began  a  voluble  conversation 
on  the  subject,  ostensibly  desiring  Farnham's  opin 
ion  on  the  crisis,  but  really  seizing  the  opportunity 
of  displaying  her  familiarity  with  the  names  of  the 
new  cabinet.  She  talked  with  great  spirit  and  ani 
mation,  sometimes  using  her  fine  eyes  point-blank 
upon  Farnham,  sometimes  glancing  about  to  observe 
the  effect  she  was  creating ;  which  gave  Farnham 
his  opportunity  to  sigh  his  soul  away  over  her  shoul 
der  to  where  Alice  was  sweetly  and  placidly  talking 
with  her  friends. 

She  had  seen  him  come  in,  and  her  heart  had 
stood  still  for  a  moment ;  but  her  feminine  instinct 
sustained  her,  and  she  had  not  once  glanced  in  his 
direction.  But  she  was  conscious  of  every  look  and 
action  of  his ;  and  when  he  approached  the  corner 
where  she  was  sitting,  she  felt  as  if  «i  warm  and 
embarrassing  ray  of  sunshine  was  coming  near  her, 
She  was  at  once  relieved  and  disappointed  when  he 
sat  down  by  Miss  Dallas.  She  thought  to  herself : 
"  Perhaps  he  will  never  speak  to  me  again.  It  is  all 
my  fault.  I  threw  him  away.  But  it  was  not  my 
fault.  It  was  his — it  was  hers.  I  do  not  know 
what  to  think.  He  might  have  let  me  alone.  1 
liked  him  so  much.  I  have  only  been  a  month  out 
of  school.  What  shall  I  do  if  he  never  speaks  to 


THE   BREAD-WINKERS.  179 

me  again  ?"  Yet  such  is  the  power  which,  for  self- 
defence,  is  given  to  young  maidens  that,  while  these 
tumultuous  thoughts  were  passing  through  her 
mind,  she  talked  and  laughed  with  the  girls  beside 
her,  and  exchanged  an  occasional  word  with  the 
young  men  in  pointed  shoes,  as  if  she  had  never 
known  a  grief  or  a  care. 

Mr.  Furrey  came  up  to  say  good-evening,  with 
his  most  careful  bow.  Lowering  his  voice,  he  said : 

"  There's  Miss  Dallas  and  Captain  Farnham  flirt 
ing  in  Italian." 

"  Are  you  sure  they  are  flirting  ?" 

"  Of  course  they  are.     Just  look  at  them !" 

"  If  you  are  sure  they  are  flirting,  I  don't  think  it 
is  right  to  look  at  them.  Still,  if  you  disapprove  of 
it  very  much,  you  might  speak  to  them  about  it," 
she  suggested,  in  her  sweet,  low,  serious  voice. 

"  Oh,  that  would  never  do  for  a  man  of  my  age," 
replied  Furrey,  in  good  faith.  He  was  very  vain 
of  his  youth. 

"  What  I  wanted  to  speak  to  you  about  was  this," 
he  continued.  "  There  is  going  to  be  a  Ree-gatta 
on  the  river  the  day  after  to-morrow,  and  I  hope 
you  will  grant  me  the  favor  of  your  company.  The 
Wissagewissametts  are  to  row  with  the  Chippago- 
waxems,  and  it  will  be  the  finest  race  this  year. 
Billy  Raum,  you  know,  is  stroke  of  the " 

Her  face  was  still  turned  to  him,  but  she  had 
ceased  to  listen.  She  was  lost  in  contemplation  of 
what  seemed  to  her  a  strange  and  tragic  situation. 
Farnham  was  so  near  that  she  could  touch  him,  and 
yet  so  far  away  that  he  was  lost  to  her  forever.  No 
human  being  knew,  or  ever  would  know,  that  a  few 


180  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

days  ago  he  had  offered  her  his  life,  and  she  had 
refused  the  gift.  Nobody  in  this  room  was  sur 
prised  that  he  did  not  speak  to  her,  or  that  she  did 
not  look  at  him.  Nobody  dreamed  that  he  loved 
her,  and  she  would  die,  she  resolved  deliberately, 
before  she  would  let  anybody  know  that  she  loved 
him.  "  For  I  do  love  him  with  my  whole  heart," 
she  said  to  herself,  with  speechless  energy,  which 
sent  the  blood  up  to  her  temples,  and  left  her,  in 
another  instant,  as  pale  as  a  lily. 

Furrey  at  that  moment  had  concluded  his  en 
ticing  account  of  the  regatta,  and  she  had  quietly 
declined  to  accompany  him.  He  moved  away,  in 
dignant  at  her  refusal,  and  puzzled  by  the  blush 
which  accompanied  it. 

"  What  did  that  mean  ?"  he  mused.  "  I  guess  it 
was  because  I  said  the  crews  rowed  in  short  sleeves." 

Farnham  also  saw  the  blush,  in  the  midst  of  a 
disquisition  which  Miss  Dallas  was  delivering  upon 
a  new  poem  of  Francois  Coppee.  He  saw  the  clear, 
warm  color  rise  and  subside  like  the  throbbing  of 
an  auroral  light  in  a  starry  night.  He  thought  he 
had  never  seen  anything  so  lovely,  but  he  wondered 
"  what  that  oaf  could  have  said  to  make  her  blush 

like  that.  Can  it  be  possible  that  he "  His 

brow  knitted  with  anger  and  contempt. 

"Mais,  qu^est-ce  que  vous  avez  done?"  asked 
Euphrasia. 

Farnham  was  saved  from  the  necessity  of  an 
explanation  by  Mr.  Temple,  who  came  up  at  that 
moment,  and,  laying  a  hand  on  Arthur's  shoulder, 
gaid: 

"  Now  we  will  go  into  my  den  and  have  a  glass 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  181 

of  that  sherry.     I  know  no  less  temptation  than  Tio 
Pepe  could  take  you  away  from  Miss  Dallas." 

"Thank  you  awfully,"  said  the  young  lady. 
"  Why  should  you  not  give  Miss  Dallas  herself  an 
opportunity  to  decline  the  Tio  Pepe  ?" 

"  Miss  Dallas  shall  have  some  champagne  in  a  few 
minutes,  which  she  will  like  very  much  better. 
Age  and  wickedness  are  required  to  appreciate 
sherry." 

"  Ah !  I  congratulate  your  sherry ;  it  is  about  to 
be  appreciated,"  said  the  deserted  beauty,  tartly,  as 
the  men  moved  away. 

They  entered  the  little  room  which  Temple  called 
his  den,  which  was  a  litter  of  letter-books,  stock-lists, 
and  the  advertising  pamphlets  of  wine-merchants. 
The  walls  were  covered  witn  the  portraits  of  trot 
ting  horses ;  a  smell  of  perpetual  tobacco  was  in  the 
air.  Temple  unlocked  a  cupboard,  and  took  out  a 
decanter  and  some  glasses.  He  filled  two,  and  gave 
one  to  Arthur,  and  held  the  other  under  his  nose. 

"  Farnham,"  he  said,  with  profound  solemnity, 
"  if  you  don't  call  that  the" — (I  decline  to  follow 
him  in  the  pyrotechnical  combination  of  oaths  with 
which  he  introduced  the  next  words) — "  best  sherry 
you  ever  saw,  then  I'm  a  converted  pacer  with  the 
ringbone." 

Arthur  drank  his  wine,  and  did  not  hesitate  to 
admit  all  that  its  owner  had  claimed  for  it.  He 
had  often  wondered  how  such  a  man  as  Temple  had 
acquired  such  an  unerring  taste. 

"  Temple,"  he  said,  "  how  did  you  ever  pick  up 
this  wine  ;  and,  if  you  will  excuse  the  question, 
did  you  know  it  when  you  got  it  2" 


182  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

Temple  smiled,  evidently  pleased  with  the  ques 
tion.  "  You've  been  in  Spain,  haven't  you  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Farnham. 

"  You  know  this  is  the  genuine  stuff,  then  ?" 

"  No  doubt  of  it." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?" 

"  The  usual  way — by  seeing  and  drinking  it  at  the 
tables  of  men  who  know  what  they  are  about." 

"Well,  I  have  never  been  out  of  the  United 
States,  and  yet  I  have  learned  about  wine  in  just 
the  same  way.  I  commenced  in  New  Orleans 
among  the  old  Spanish  and  French  Creoles,  and  have 
kept  it  up  since,  here  and  there.  I  can  see  in  five 
minutes  whether  a  man  knows  anything  about  his 
wine.  If  he  does,  I  remember  every  word  he  says 
— that  is  my  strong  point — head  and  tongue.  I 
can't  remember  sermons  and  speeches,  but  I  can 
remember  every  syllable  that  Sam  Ward  said  one 
night  at  your  grandfather's  ten  years  ago ;  and  if  I 
have  once  tasted  a  good  wine,  I  never  forget  its 
fashion  of  taking  hold." 

This  is  an  expurgated  edition  of  what  he  said ;  his 
profanity  kept  up  a  running  accompaniment,  like 
soft  and  distant  rolling  thunder. 

"  I  got  this  wine  at  the  sale  of  the  Marquis  of 
Santa  Rita.  I  heard  you  speak  of  him,  I  don't 
know  how  long  ago,  and  the  minute  I  read  in  the 
paper  that  he  had  turned  up  his  toes,  I  cabled  the 
consul  at  Cadiz — you  know  him,  a  wild  Irishman 
named  Calpin — to  go  to  the  sale  of  his  effects  and 
get  this  wine.  He  cabled  back,  '  What  shall  I  pay  ? ' 
I  answered,  '  Read  your  dispatch  again :  Get  means 
get!'  Some  men  have  got  no  sense.  I  did  not 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  183 

mind  the  price  of  the  wine,  but  it  riled  me  to  have 
to  pay  for  the  two  cables." 

He  poured  out  another  glass  and  drank  it  drop 
by  drop,  getting,  as  he  said,  "the  worth  of  his 
money  every  time." 

"  Have  some  more  ?"  he  said  to  Farnham. 

"JSTo,  thank  you." 

"  Then  I'll  put  it  away.  No  use  of  giving  it  to 
men  who  would  prefer  sixty-cent  whiskey." 

Having  done  this,  he  turned  again  to  Farnham, 
and  said,  "  I  told  you  the  Old  Boy  was  to  pay. 
This  is  how.  The  labor  unions  have  ordered  a  gen 
eral  strike ;  day  not  fixed ;  they  are  holding  meet 
ings  all  over  town  to-night.  I'll  know  more  about 
it  after  midnight." 

"  What  will  it  amount  to  ?"  asked  Farnham. 

"  Keen  savey  ?"  replied  Temple,  in  his  Mississippi 
River  Spanish.  "  The  first  thing  will  be  the  closing 
of  the  mills,  and  putting  anywhere  from  three 
thousand  to  ten  thousand  men  on  the  streets.  Then, 
if  the  strike  gains  the  railroad  men,  we  shall  be 

embargoed,  boiling,  and  safety-valve  riveted 

down." 

Farnham  had  no  thought  of  his  imperilled  inter 
ests.  He  began  instantly  to  conjecture  what  possi 
bility  of  danger  there  might  be  of  a  disturbance  of 
public  tranquillity,  and  to  wish  that- the  Beldings 
were  out  of  town. 

"  How  long  have  you  known  this  ?"  he  asked. 

"  Only  certainly  for  a  few  hours.  The  thing  has 
been  talked  about  more  or  less  for  a  month,  but  we 
hiave  had_anr  own  men  in  the  unions  and  did  not 
believe  it  would  come  to  an  extremity.  To-day, 


184  THE  BREAD-WINKERS. 

however,  they  brought  ugly  reports ;  and  I  ought 
to  tell  you  that  some  of  them  concern  you." 

Farnham  lifted  his  eyebrows  inquiringly. 

"  We  keep  men  to  loaf  with  the  tramps  and  sleep 
in  the  boozing  kens.  One  of  them  told  me  to-day 
that  at  the  first  serious  disturbance  a  lot  of  bad  eggs 
among  the  strikers — not  the  unionists  proper,  but  a 
lot  of  loose  fish — intend  to  go  through  some  of  the 
principal  houses  on  Algonquin  Avenue,  and  they 
mentioned  yours  as  one  of  them." 

"  Thank  you.  I  will  try  to  be  ready  for  them," 
said  Farnham.  But,  cool  and  tried  as  was  his  cour 
age,  he  could  not  help  remembering,  with  something 
like  dread,  that  Mrs.  Belding's  house  was  next  to  his 
own,  and  that  in  case  of  riot  the  two  might  suffer 
together. 

"  There  is  one  thing  more  I  wanted  to  say,"  Mr. 
Temple  continued,  with  a  slight  embarrassment. 
"  If  I  can  be  of  any  service  to  you,  in  case  of  a  row, 
I  want  to  be  allowed  to  help." 

"As  to  that,"  Farnham  said  with  a  laugh,  "  you 
have  your  own  house  and  stables  to  look  after,  which 
will  probably  be  as  much  as  you  can  manage." 

"  No,"  said  Temple,  earnestly,  "  that  ain't  the  case. 
I  will  have  to  explain  to  you" — and  a  pjQsiiis:^.  blush 
came  to  his  ruddy  face.  "  They  won't  touch  me  or 
my  property.  They  say  a  man  who  uses  such  good 
horses  and  such  bad  language  as  I  do — that's  just 
what  they  say — is  one  of  them,  and  sha'n't  be  rack 
eted.  I  ain't  very  proud  of  my  popularity,  but  J 
am  willing  to  profit  by  it  and  I'll  come  around  and 
see  you  if  anything  more  turns  up.  Now,  we'll  go 
and  give  Phrasy  Dallas  that  glass  of  champagne.'* 


THE  BREAD-WINKERS.  185 


XII. 
A  HOLIDAY  NOT  IN  THE  CALENDAR. 

THE  next  morning  while  Farnham  was  at  break 
fast  he  received  a  note  from  Mr.  Temple  in  these 
words : 

"  Strikes  will  begin  to-day,  but  will  not  be  general.  There 
will  be  no  disturbance,  I  think.  They  don't  seem  very 
gritty." 

After  breakfast  he  walked  down  to  the  City  Hall. 
On  every  street  corner  he  saw  little  groups  of  men 
in  rather  listless  conversation.  He  met  an  acquaint 
ance  crossing  the  street. 

"Have  you  heard  the  news?"  The  man's  face 
was  flushed  with  pleasure  at  having  something  to 
tell.  "  The  firemen  and  stokers  have  all  struck,  and 
run  their  engines  into  the  round-house  at  Riverley, 
five  miles  out.  There  won't  be  a  train  leave  or 
come  in  for  the  present." 

"Is  that  all?" 

"  No,  that  ain't  a  start.  The  Model  Oil  men  have 
struck,  and  are  all  over  the  North  End,  shutting  up 
the  other  shops.  They  say  there  won't  be  a  lick  of 
work  done  in  town  the  rest  of  the  week." 

"  Except  what  Satan  finds  for  idle  hands,"  'Farn 
ham  suggested,  and  hastened  his  steps  a  little  to 
the  municipal  buildings. 

He  found  the  chief  of  police  in  his  office,'  suffer 
ing  from  nervousness  and  a  sense  of  importance. 


186  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

He  began  by  reminding  him  of  the  occurrence  ot 
the  week  before  in  the  wood.  The  chief  waited 
with  an  absent  expression  for  the  story  to  end,  and 
then  said,  "  My  dear  sir,  I  cannot  pay  any  attention 
to  such  little  matters  with  anarchy  threatening  our 
i  city.  I  must  protect  life  and  property,  sir — life 
and  property." 

"  Very  well,"  rejoined  Farnham,  "  I  am  informed 
that  life  and  property  are  threatened  in  my  own 
neighborhood.  Can  you  detail  a  few  policemen  to 
patrol  Algonquin  Avenue,  in  case  of  a  serious  dis 
turbance  ?" 

"  I  can't  tell  you,  my  dear  sir ;  I  will  do  th,e  best 
I  can  by  all  sections.  Why,  man,"  he  cried,  in  a 
voice  which  suddenly  grew  a  shrill  falsetto  in  his 
agitation,  "I  tell  you  I  haven't  a  policeman  for 
every  ten  miles  of  street  in  this  town.  I  can't  spare 
but  two  for  my  own  house  !" 

Farnham  saw  the  case  was  hopeless,  and  went  to 
the  office  of  the  mayor.  That  official  had  assumed 
an  attitude  expressive  of  dignified  and  dauntless 
energy.  He  sat  in  a  chair  tilted  back  on  its  hind 
feet ;  the  boots  of  the  municipal  authority  were  on 
a  desk  covered  with  official  papers;  a  long  cigar 
adorned  his  eloquent  lips ;  a  beaver  hat  shaded  his 
eyes. 

He  did  not  change  hie  attitude  as  Farnham  en 
tered.  He  probably  thought  it  could  not  be  changed 
for  the  better. 

"  Good-morning,  Mr.  Quiiilin." 

"  Good-morning,  sirr,  to  you."  This  salutation 
was  uttered  through  teeth  shutras  tightly  as  the  in 
tegrity  of  the  cigar  would  permit. 


THE  BREAD-WINNERS.  187 

"  There  is  a  great  deal  of  talk  of  possible  disturb- 
ance  to-night,  in  case  the  strikes  extend.  My  own 
neighborhood,  I  am  told,  has  been  directly  threat 
ened.  I  called  to  ask  whether,  in  case  of  trouble,  I 
could  rely  on  any  assistance  from  the  city  authori 
ties,  or  whether  we  must  all  look  out  for  ourselves." 

The  mayor  placed  his  thumbs  in  the  arm-holes  of 
his  waistcoat,  and  threw  his  head  back  so  that  he 
could  stare  at  Farnham  from  below  his  hat  brim. 
He  then  said,  in  a  measured  voice,  as  if  addressing 
an  assembly  :  "  Sirr  !  I  would  have  you  to  know 
that  the  working-men  of  Buffland  are  not  thieves 
and  robbers.  In  this  struggle  with  capital  they 
have  my  profound  sympathy.  I  expect  their  con 
duct  to  be  that  of  perr-fect  gentlemen.  I,  at  least, 
will  givre  no  orders  which  may  tend  to  array  one 
class  of  citizens  against  another.  That  is  my  an 
swer,  sirr ;  I  hope  it  does  not  disappoint  you." 

"  Not  in  the  least,"  said  Farnham,  putting  on  his 
hat.  "  It  is  precisely  what  I  should  have  expected 
of  you." 

"  Thank  you,  sirr.     Call  again,  sirr." 

As  Farnham  disappeared,  the  chief  magistrate  of 
the  city  tilted  his  hat  to  one  side,  shut  an  eye  with 
profoundly  humorous  significance,  and  said  to  the 
two  or  three  loungers  who  had  been  enjoying  the 
scene : 

"  That  is  the  sort  of  T-rail  T  am.  That  young 
gentleman  voted  agin  me,  on  the  ground  I  wasn't 
high-toned  enough." 

Farnham  walked  rapidly  to  the  office  of  the  even 
ing  newspaper.  He  found  a  man  in  the  counting- 
room,  catching  flies  and  trimming  their  wings  with 


188  THE   BBEAD-WIKNERS. 

a  large  pair  of  office  shears.  He  said,  "  Can  you 
put  an  advertisement  for  me  in  your  afternoon 
editions  ?" 

The  man  laid  down  Iris  shears,  but  held  on  to  his 
fly,  and  looked  at  his  watch. 
"Have  you  got  it  ready?" 
"  No,  but  I  will  not  be  a  minute  about  it." 
"  Be  lively  !     You  haven't  got  but  a  minute." 
He  picked  up  his  scissors  and  resumed  his  sur 
gery,  while  Farnham  wrote  his  advertisement.    The 
man  took  it,  and  threw  it  into  a  tin  box,  blew  a 
whistle,  and  the  box  disappeared  through  a  hole  in 
the  ceiling.     A  few  mirtutes  later  the  boys  were 
crying  the  paper  in  the  streets.     The  advertisement 
was  in  these  words : 

"Veterans,  Attention  1  All  able-bodied  veterans  of  the 
Array  of  the  Potomac,  and  especially  of  the  Third  Army 
Corps,  are  requested  to  meet  at  seven  this  evening,  at  No.  — 
Public  Square." 

From  the  newspaper  office  Farnham  went  to  a 
gnu  smith's.  The  dealer  was  a  German  and  a  good 
sportsman,  whom  Farnham  knew  very  well,  having 
often  shot  with  him  in  the  marshes  west  of  the  city. 
His  name  was  Leopold  Grosshammer.  There  were 
two  or  three  men  in  the  place  when  Farnham  en 
tered.  He  waited  until  they  were  gone,  and  then 
said : 

"  Bolty,  have  you  two  dozen  repeating  rifles  ?" 

"  Ja  wohl !  Aber,  Herr  Gott,  was  machen  Sie 
deini  damit?" 

"  I  don't  know  why  I  shouldn't  tell  you.  They 
think  there  may  be  a  riot  in  town,  and  they  tell  me 
at  the  City  Hall  that  everybody  must  look  out  for 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  189 

himself.     I  am  going  to  try  to  get  up  a  little  com-  j 
pany  of  old  soldiers  for  patrol  duty." 

"  All  right,  mine  captain,  and  I  will  be  the  first 
freiwilliger.  But  I  don't  dink  you  wants  rifles. 
Revolvers  and  clubs — like  the  pleecemen — dat's 
de  dicket." 

"  Have  you  got  them  ?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  and  the  belts  thereto.  I  got  der  gon- 
dract  to  furnish  'em  to  de  city." 

"  Then  you  will  send  them,  wrapped  up  in  bun 
dles,  to  my  office  in  the  Square,  and  come  yourself 
there  at  seven." 

"  Freilich,"  said  Leopold,  his  white  teeth  glisten 
ing  through  his  yellow  beard  at  the  prospect  of  ser 
vice. 

Farnham  spent  an  hour  or  two  visiting  the  pro 
prietors  of  the  large  establishments  affected  by  the 
strikes.  He  found,  as  a  rule,  great  annoyance  and 
exasperation,  but  no  panic.  Mr.  Temple  said,  "  The 

poor fools !  I  felt  sorry  for  them.    They  came 

up  here  to  me  this  morning, — their  committee,  they 
called  it, — and  told  me  they  hated  it,  but  it  was 
orders!  < Orders  from  where?'  I  asked.  '"From 
the  chiefs  of  sections,'  they  said ;  and  that  was  all 
I  could  get  out  of  them.  Some  of  the  best  fellows 
in  the  works  were  on  the  committee.  They  put  'em 
there  on  purpose.  The  sneaks  and  lawyers*  hung 
back." 

"What  will  they  do  if  the  strike  should  last?" 
asked  Farnham. 

"  They  will  be  supported  for  awhile  by  the  other 
mills.  Our  men  are  the  only  ones  that  have  struck 
so  far.  They  were  told  off  to  make  the  move,  just 


190  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

as  they  march  out  a  certain  regiment  to  charge  a  bat. 
tery.  If  we  give  in,  then  another  gang  will  strike." 

"  Do  you  expect  to  give  in  ?" 

"Between  us,  we  want  nothing  better  than  ten 
days'  rest.  We  want  to  repair  our  furnaces,  and 

we  haven't  a thing  to  do.  "What  I  told  you 

this  morning  holds  good.  There  won't  be  any  riot. 
The  whole  thing  is  solemn  fooling,  so  far." 

The  next  man  Farnham  saw  was  in  a  far  less 
placid  frame  of  mind.  It  was  Jimmy  Nelson,  the 
largest  grocer  in  the  city.  He  had  a  cargo  of  per 
ishable  groceries  at  the  station,  and  the  freight  hands 
would  not  let  them  be  delivered.  "  I  talked  to  the 
rascals,"  he  said.  "  I  asked  them  what  they  had 
against  me;  that  they  was  injuring  Trade !"  a  deity 
of  which  Mr.  Nelson  always  spoke  with  profound 
respect.  "They  laughed  in  my  face,  sir.  They 
said,  "  That's  just  our  racket.  We  want  to  squeeze 
you  respectable  merchants  till  you  get  mad  and 
hang  a  railroad  president  or  two !"  Yes,  sir ;  they 
said  that  to  me,  and  five  thousand  dollars  of  my 
stuff  rotting  in  the  depot."  4 

"  Why  don't  you  go  to  the  mayor  ?'*  asked  Farn 
ham,  though  he  could  not  suppress  a  smile  as  he 
eaid  it.  » 

"  Yes,  I  like  that !"  screamed  Jimmy.  "  You  are 
laughing  at  me.  I  suppose  the  whole  town  has 
heard  of  it.  Well,  it's  a  fact.  I  went  and  asked 
that  infernal  scoundrel  what  he  was  going  to  do. 
He  said  his  function  was  to  keep  the  peace,  and 
there  wasn't  a  word  in  the  statutes  about  North 
Carliny  water-melons.  If  I  live  till  he  gets  out  of 
office,  I'll  lick  him." 


• 

THE   BKEAD-WI^NERS.  191 

"  Oh,  I  think  you  won't  do  that,  Jimmy." 
"  You  think  I  won't !"  said  Nelson,  absolutely 
incandescent  with  the  story  of  his  wrongs.  "I'll 
swear  by  Matthew,  Mark,  Luke,  and  John,  that  I 
will  thrash  the  hide  off  him  next  spring — if  I  don't 
forget  it." 

Farnham  went  home,  mounted  his  horse,  and 
rode  about  the  city  to  see  what  progress  the  strike 
was  making.  There  was  little  disorder  visible  on 
the  surface  of  things.  The  "  sections"  had  evi 
dently  not  ordered  a  general  cessation  of  labor ; 
and  yet  there  were  curious  signs  of  demoraliza 
tion,  as  if  the  spirit  of  work  was  partially  disinte 
grating  and  giving  way  to  something  not  precisely 
lawless,  but  rather  listless.  For  instance,  a  crowd 
of  workmen  were  engaged  industriously  and,  to  all 
appearance,  contentedly  upon  a  large  school-building 
in  construction.  A  group  of  men,  not  half  their 
number,  approached  them  and  ordered  them  to  leave 
off  work.  The  builders  looked  at  each  other  and 
then  at  their  exhorters  in  a  confused  fashion  for  a 
moment,  and  ended  by  obeying  the  summons  in  a 
sullen  and  indifferent  manner.  They  took  off  their 
aprons,  went  to  the  hydrant  and  washed  their  hands, 
then  put  on  their  coats  and  went  home  in  silence 
and  shamefacedness,  amid  the  angry  remonstrances 
of  the  master-builder.  A  little  farther  on  Farnham 
saw  what  seemed  like  a  burlesque  of  the  last  per 
formance.  Several  men  were  at  work  in  a  hole  in 
the  street ;  the  tops  of  their  heads  were  just  visible 
above  the  surface.  A  half-grown,  ruffianly  boy,  with ; 
a  boot-black's  box  slung  over  his  shoulder,  came  up 
and  shouted,  "  You  rats,  come  out  of 


192  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

that,  or  we'll  knock  the  scalps  off'n  you."  The 
men,  without  even  looking  to  see  the  source  of  the 
summons,  threw  down  their  tools  and  got  out  of  the 
hole.  The  boy  had  run  away ;  they  looked  about 
for  a  moment,  as  if  bewildered,  and  then  one  of 
them,  a  gray-headed  Irishman,  said,  "Well,  we'd 
better  be  a  lavin'  off,  if  the  rest  is,"  and  they  all 
went  away. 

In  this  fashion  it  came  about  that  by  nightfall  all 
the  squares  and  public  places  were  thronged  with 
an  idle  and  expectant  crowd,  not  actively  mischiev 
ous  or  threatening,  but  affording  a  vast  mass  of  in 
flammable  material  in  case  the  fire  should  start  in 
any  quarter.  They  gathered  everywhere  in  dense 
groups,  exchanging  rumors  and  surmises,  in  which 
fact  and  fiction  were  fantastically  mingled. 

"  The  rolling-mills  all  close  to-morrow,"  said  a 
sallow  and  hollow-eyed  tailor.  "  That'll  let  loose 
twenty  thousand  men  on  the  town, — big,  brawny 
fellows.  I'm  glad  my  wife  is  in  Clairfield." 

"  All  you  know  about  it !  Clairfield  is  twice  as 
bad  off  as  here.  The  machine  shops  has  all  struck 
there,  and  the  men  went  through  the  armory  this 
afternoon.  They're  camped  all  along  Delaware 
street,  every  man  with  a  pair  of  revolvers  and  a 
musket." 

"  You  don't  say  so  !"  said  the  Schneider,  turning 
a  shade  more  sallow.  "  I'd  better %  telegraph  my 
wife  to  come  home." 

"  I  wouldn't  hurry,"  was  the  impassive  response. 
"  You  don't  know  where  we'll  be  to-morrow.  They 
have  been  drilling  all  day  at  Kiverley,  three  thou 
sand  of  'em.  They'll  come  in  to-morrow,  mebbe, 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  193 

and  hang  all  the  railroad  presidents.  That  may 
make  trouble." 

Through  these  loitering  and  talking  crowds  Farn 
ham  made  his  way  in  the  evening  to  the  office  which 
he  kept,  on  the  public  square  of  the  town,  for  the 
transaction  of  the  affairs  of  his  estate.  He  had  given 
directions  to  his  clerk  to  be  there,  and  when  he  ar 
rived  found  that  some  half-dozen  men  had  already 
assembled  in  answer  to  his  advertisement.  Some  of 
them  he  knew ;  one,  Nathan  Kendall,  a  powerful 
young  man,  originally  from  the  north  of  Maine,  now 
a  machinist  in  Buffland,  had  been  at  one  time  his 
orderly  in  the  army.  Bolty  Grossharnmer  was  there, 
and  in  a  very  short  time  some  twenty  men  were  in 
the  room.  Farnham  briefly  explained  to  them  his* 
intention.  "  I  want  you,"  he  said,  "  to  enlist  for  aj 
few  days'  service  under  my  orders.  I  cannot  tellj 
whether  there  will  be  any  work  to  do  or  not ;  but 
it  is  likely  we  shall  have  a  few  nights  of  pa'trol  at 
least.  You  will  get  ten  dollars  apiece  anyhow,  and 
ordinary  day's  wages  besides.  If  any  of  you  get 
hurt,  I  will  try  to  have  you  taken  care  of." 

All  but  two  agreed  to  the  proposition.  These 
two  said  "  they  had  families  and  could  nofr  risk  their 
skins.  When  they  saw  the  advertisement  they  had 
thought  it  was  something  about  pensions,  or  the 
county  treasurer's  office.  They  thought  soldiers 
ought  to  have  the  first  chance  at  good  offices." 
They  then  grumblingly  withdrew. 

Farnham  kept  his  men  for  an  hour  longer,  arrang 
ing  some  details  of  organization,  and  then  dismissed 
them  for  twenty-four  hours,  feeling  assured  that 
there  would  be  no  disturbance  of  public  tranquillity 

lo 


194  THE   BREAD-WINNEES. 

that  night.  "  I  will  meet  you  here  to  morrow  even 
ing,"  he  said,  "  and  you  can  get  your  pistols  and 
sticks  and  your  final  orders." 

The  men  went  out  one  by  one,  Bolty  and  Kendall 
waiting  for  a  while  after  they  had  gone  and  going 
out  on  the  sidewalk  with  Farnham.  They  had  in 
stinctively  appointed  themselves  a  sort  of  body 
guard  to  their  old  commander,  and  intended  to  keep 
him  in  sight  until  he  got  home.  As  they  reached 
the  door,  they  saw  a  scuffle  going  on  upon  the  side 
walk.  A  well-dressed  man  was  being  beaten  and 
kicked  by  a  few  rough  fellows,  and  the  crowd  was 
looking  on  with  silent  interest.  Farnham  sprang 
forward  and  seized  one  of  the  assailants  by  the  col 
lar  ;  Bolty  pulled  away  another.  The  man  who  had 
been  cuffed  turned  to  Kendall,  who  was  standing 
by  to  help  where  help  was  needed,  and  cried,  "  Take 
me  away  somewhere ;  they  will  have  my  life ;"  an 
appeal  which  only  excited  the  jeers  of  the  crowd. 

"  Kendall,  take  him  into  my  office,"  said  Farn 
ham,  which  was  done  in  an  instant,  Farnham  and 
Bolty  following.  A  rush  was  made, — not  very 
vicious,  however, — and  the  three  men  got  safely 
inside  with  their  prize,  and  bolted  the  door.  A 
few  kicks  and  blows  shook  the  door,  but  there  was 
no  movement  to  break  it  down ;  and  the  rescued 
man,  when  he  found  himself  in  safety,  walked  up  to 
a  mirror  there  was  in  the  room  and  looked  earnestly 
at  his  face.  It  was  a  little  bruised  and  bloody,  and 
dirty  with  mud,  but  not  seriously  injured. 

He  turned  to  his  rescuers  with  an  air  moie  of 
condescension  than  gratitude.  "  Gentlemen,  I  owe 
you  my  thanks,  although  I  should  have  got  the  bet 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  195 

ter  of  those  scoundrels  in  a  moment.    Can  yon  assist 
me  in  identifying  them  ?" 

"  Oh !  it  is  Mayor  Quinlin,  I  believe,"  said  Farn- 
ham,  recognizing  that  functionary  more  by  his  voice 
than  by  his  rumpled  visage.  "  No,  I  do  not  know 
who  they  were.  What  was  the  occasion  of  this 
assault  r 

"  A  most  cowardly  and  infamous  outrage,  sir," 
said  the  Mayor.  "  I  was  walking  along  the  side 
walk  to  me  home,  and  I  came  upon  this  gang  of 
ruffians  at  your  door.  Impatient  at  being  delayed, 
—for  me  time  is  much  occupied, — I  rebuked  them 
for  being  in  me  way.  One  of  them  turned  to  me 
and  insolently  inquired,  <  Do  you  own  this  street,  or 
have  you  just  got  a  lien  on  it  ? '  which  unendurable 
insult  was  greeted  with  a  loud  laugh  from  the  othec 
ruffians.  I  called  them  by  some  properly  severe  • 
name,  and  raised  me  cane  to  force  a  passage, — and 
the  rest  you  know.  Now,  gentlemen,  is  there  any 
thing  I  can  do  ?" 

Farnham  did  not  scruple  to  strike  while  the  iron 
was  hot.  He  said :  "  Yes,  there  is  one  thing  your 
Honor  may  do,  not  so  much  for  us  as  for  the  cause 
of  order  and  good  government,  violated  to-night  in 
your  own  person.  Knowing  the  insufficiency  of  the 
means  at  your  disposal,  a  few  of  us  propose  to  raise 
a  subsidiary  night-patrol  for  the  protection,  of  life 
and  property  during  the  present  excitement.  We 
would  like  you  to  give  it  your  official  sanction." 

"  Do  I  understand  it  will  be  without  expense  to 
my — to  the  city  government  ?"  Mr.  Quinlin  was 
anxious  to  make  a  show  of  economy  in  his  annua] 
message. 


196  THE  BREAD-WINNERS. 

"  Entirely,"  Farnham  assured  him. 

"It  is  done,  sir.  Come  to-morrow  morning  and 
get  what  papers  you  want.  The  sperrit  of  disorder 
must  be  met  and  put  down  with  a  bold  and  defiant 
hand.  Now,  gentlemen,  if  there  is  a  back  door  to 
this  establishment,  I  will  use  it  to  make  me  way 
home." 

Farnham  showed  him  the  rear  entrance,  and  saw 
him  walking  homeward  up  the  quiet  street;  and, 
coming  back,  found  Bolty  and  Kendall  writhing 
with  merriment. 

"  Well,  that  beats  all,"  said  Kendall.  "  I  guess  I'll 
write  home  like  the  fellow  did  from  Iowa  to  his 
daddy,  c  Come  out  here  quick.  Mighty  mean  men 
gits  office  in  this  country.' " 

"  Yes,"  assented  Bolty.  "Dot  burgermeister  ish 
better  as  a  circus  mit  a  drick  mule." 

"  Don't  speak  disrespectfully  of  dignitaries,"  said 
Farnham.  "  It's  a  bad  habit  in  soldiers." 

When  they  went  out  oh  the  sidewalk  the  crowd 
had  dispersed.  Farnham  bade  his  recruits  good 
night  and  went  up  the  avenue.  They  waited  until 
he  was  a  hundred  yards  away,  and  then,  without  a 
word  to  each  other,  followed  him  at  that  distance 
till  they  saw  him  enter  his  own  gate. 


THE  BREAD-WINNERS.  197 


XIII. 
A  BUSY  SUNDAY  FOR  THE  MATCHINS. 

MATTERS  were  not  going  on  pleasantly  in  the 
Matchin  cottage.  Maud's  success  in  gaining  an 
eligible  position,  as  it  was  regarded  among  her 
friends,  made  her  at  once  an  object  of  greater  interest 
than  ever  ;  but  her  temper  had  not  improved  with 
her  circumstances,  and  she  showed  herself  no  more 
accessible  than  before.  Her  father,  who  naturally 
felt  a  certain  satisfaction  at  having,  as  he  thought, 
established  her  so  well,  regarded  himself  as  justified 
in  talking  to  her  firmly  and  seriously  respecting  her 
future.  He  went  about  it  in  the  only  way  he  knew. 
"  Mattie,"  he  said  one  evening,  when  they  happened 
to  be  alone  together,  "  when  are  you  and  Sam  going 
to  make  a  match  ?" 

She  lifted  her  eyes  to  him,  and  shot  out  a  look  of 
anger  and  contempt  from  under  her  long  lashes  that 
made  her  father  *feel  very  small  and  old  and  shabby. 

"  Never !"  she  said,  quietly. 

"  Come,  come,  now,"  said  the  old  man  ;  "  just 
listen  to  reason.  Sam  is  a  good  boy,  and  with  what 
he  makes  and  what  you  make " 

"  That  has  nothing  to  do  with  it.  I  won't  discuss 
the  matter  any  further.  We  have  had  it  all  out  be 
fore.  If  it  is  ever  mentioned  again,  Sam  or  I  will 
leave  this  house." 

"  Hoity-toity,  Missy !   is  that  the  way  you  take 


198  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

good  advice "  but  she  was  gone  before  he  could 

say  another  word.     Saul  walked  up  and  down  the 

room  a  few  moments,  taking  very  short  steps,  and 

[  solacing  his  mind  by  muttering  to  himself :  "  "Well, 

that's  what  I  get  by  having  a  scholar  in  the  family. 

j  Learning  goes  to  the  head  and  the  heels — makes 

'em  proud  and  skittish." 

He  punctually  communicated  his  failure  to  Sam, 
who  received  the  news  with  a  sullen  quietness  that 
perplexed  still  more  the  puzzled  carpenter. 

On  a  Sunday  afternoon,  a  few  days  later,  he  re 
ceived  a  visit  from  Mr.  Bott,  whom  he  welcomed, 
with  great  deference  and  some  awe,  as  an  ambas 
sador  from  a  ghostly  world  of  unknown  dignity. 
They  talked  in  a  stiff  and  embarrassed  way  for  some 
time  about  the  weather,  the  prospect  of  a  rise  in 
wages,  and  other  such  matters,  neither  obviously 
taking  any  interest  in  what  was  being  said.  Sud 
denly  Bott  drew  nearer  and  lowered  his  voice, 
though  the  two  were  alone  in  the  shop. 

"Mr.  Matchin,"  he  said,  with  an  uneasy  grin,  "  I 
have  come  to  see  you  about  your  daughter." 

Matchin  looked  at  him  with  a  quick  suspicion. 

"Well,  who's  got  anything  to  say  against  my 
daughter  F 

"  Oh,  nobody  that  I  know  of,"  said  Bott,  growing 
suspicious  in  his  turn.  "  Has  anything  ever  been 
said  against  her?" 

"  Not  as  I  know,"  said  Saul.  "  Well,  what  have 
you  got  to  say  ?" 

"  I  wanted  to  ask  how  you  would  like  me  as  a 
son-in-law  ?"  said  Bott,  wishing  to  bring  matters  to 
a  decision. 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  199 

Saul  stood  for  a  moment  without  words  in  his  as 
tonishment.  He  had  always  regarded  Bott  as  "a 
professional  character,"  even  as  a  "litrary  man"; 
he  had  never  hoped  for  so  lofty  an  alliance.  And 
yet  he  could  not  say  that  he  wholly  liked  it.  This 
was  a  strange  creature — highly  gifted,  doubtless, 
but  hardly  comfortable.  He  was  too  "  thick"  with 
ghosts.  One  scarcely  knew  whether  he  spent  most 
of  his  time  "  on  earth  or  in  hell,"  as  Saul  crudely 
phrased  it.  The  faint  smell  of  phosphorus  that  he 
carried  about  with  him,  which  was  only  due  to  his 
imperfect  ablutions  after  his  seances,  impressed 
Saul's  imagination  as  going  to  show  that  Bott  was  a 
little  too  intimate  with  the  under-ground  powers. 
He  stood  chewing  a  shaving  and  weighing  the  mat 
ter  in  his  mind  a  moment  before  he  answered.  He 
thought  to  himself,  "  After  all,  he  is  making  a  liv 
ing.  I  have  seen  as  much*  as  five  dollars  at  one  of 
his  seeunses."  But  the  only  reply  he  was  able  to 
make  to  Bott's  point-blank  question  was : 

"Well,  Idunno." 

The  words  were  hardly  encouraging,  but  the  tone 
was  weakly  compliant.  Bott  felt  that  his  cause  was 
gained,  and  thought  he  might  chaffer  a  little. 

"  Of  course,"  he  said,  "  I  would  like  to  have  a 
few  things  understood,  to  start  with.  I  am  very 
particular  in  business  matters." 

"That's  right,"  said  Saul,  who  began  to  think 
that  this  was  a  very  systematic  and  methodical  man. 

"  I  am  able  to  support  a  wife,  or  I  would  not  ask 
for  one,"  said  Bott. 

"  Exactly,"  said  Saul,  with  effusion  ;  "  that's  just 
what  I  was  saying  to  myself," 


200  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

"  Oh,  you  was !"  said  Bott,  scowling  and  hesitating. 
"  You  was,  was  you  ?"  Then,  after  a  inoment'a 
pause,  in  which  he  eyed  Saul  attentively,  he  con 
tinued,  "  Well — that's  so.  At  the  same  time,  I  am 
a  business  man,  and  I  want  to  know  what  you  can 
do  for  your  girl." 

"Not  much  of  anything,  Mr.  Bott,  if  you  must 
know.  Mattie  is  makin'  her  own  living." 

"Yes.  That's  all  right.  Does  she  pay  you  for 
her  board  2" 

"  Look  here,  Mr.  Bott,  that  ain't  none  of  your  busi* 
ness  yet,  anyhow.  She  don't  pay  no  board  while 
she  stays  here ;  but  that  ain't  nobody's  business." 

"  Oh,  no  offence,  sir,  none  in  the  world.  Only  I 
am  a  business  man,  and  don't  want  misunderstand 
ings.  So  she  don't.  And  I  suppose  you  don't 
want  to  part  with  your  last  child — now,  do  you  ? 
It's  like  breaking  your  heart-strings,  now,  ain't  it  ?" 
he  said,  in  his  most  sentimental  lecture  voice. 

"  Well,  no,  I  can't  say  it  is.  Mattie's  weclome 
in  my  house  while  I  live,  but  of  course  she'll  leave 
me  some  day,  and  I'll  wish  her  joy." 

"  Why  should  that  be  ?  My  dear  sir,  why  should 
that  be  ?"  Bott's  voice  grew  greasy  with  sweetness 
and  persuasion.  "Why  not  all  live  together?  I 
will  be  to  you  as  a  son.  Maud  will  soothe  your  de 
clining  years.  Let  it  be  as  it  is,  Father  Saul." 

The  old  carpenter  looked  up  with  a  keen  twinkle 
of  his  eye. 

"  You  and  your  wife  would  like  to  board  with  us 
when  you  are  married  ?  Well,  mebbe  we  can  ar 
range  that." 

This  was  not  quite  what  Bott  expected,  but  he 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  201 

thought  best  to  say  no  more  on  that  subject  for  the 
moment. 

Saul  then  asked  the  question  that  had  all  along 
been  hovering  on  his  lips. 

"  Have  you  spoke  to  Mattie  yet  ?" 

The  seer  blushed  and  simpered,  "  I  thought  it  my 
duty  to  speak  first  to  you  ;  but  I  do  not  doubt  her 
heart." 

"Oh!  you  don't,"  said  Saul,  with  a  world  of 
meaning.  "  You  better  find  out.  You'll  find  her 
in  the  house." 

Bott  went  to  the  house,  leaving  Saul  pondering. 
Girls  were  queer  cattle.  Had  Mattie  given  her 
word  to  this  slab-sided,  lanky  fellow?  Had  she 
given  Sam  Sleeny  the  mitten  for  him  ?  Perhaps 
she  wanted  the  glory  of  being  Mrs.  Professor  Bott. 
Well,  she  could  do  as  she  liked ;  but  Saul  swore 
softly  to  himself,  "  If  Bott  cpmes  to  live  offen  me, 
he's  got  to  pay  his  board." 

Meanwhile,  the  seer  was  walking,  not  without 
some  inward  perturbation,  to  the  house,  where  his 
fate  awaited  him.  It  would  Have  been  hard  to  find 
a  man  more  confident  and  more  fatuous ;  but  even 
such  fools  as  he  have  their  moments  of  doubt  and 
faltering  when  they  approach  the  not  altogether 
known.  He  had  not  entertained  the  slightest  ques 
tion  of  Maud's  devotion  to  him,  the  night  she  asked 
from  him  the  counsel  of  the  spirits.  But  he  had 
seen  her  several  times  since  that,  and  she  had  never 
renewed  the  subject.  He  was  in  two  minds  about 
it.  Sometimes  he  imagined  she  might  have  changed 
her  purpose;  and  then  he  would  comfort  himself 
with  the  more  natural  supposition  that  maiden  mod- 


202  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

esty  had  been  too  much  for  her,  and  that  she  waa 
anxiously  awaiting  his  proffer.  He  had  at  last 
girded  up  his  loins  like  a  man  and  determined  to 
know  his  doom.  He  had  first  ascertained  the 
amount  of  Maud's  salary  at  the  library,  and  then,  as 
we  see,  had  endeavored  to  provide  for  his  subsist 
ence  at  Saul's  expense ;  and  now  nothing  was  want 
ing  but  the  maiden's  consent.  He  trembled  a  little, 
but  it  was  more  with  hope  than  fear.  He  could  not 
make  himself  believe  that  there  was  any  danger — 
but  he  wished  it  were  over  and  all  were  well.  He 
paused  as  he  drew  near  the  door.  He  was  conscious 
that  his  hands  were  disagreeably  cold  and  moist. 
He  took  out  his  handkerchief  and  wiped  them,  rub 
bing  them  briskly  together,  though  the  day  was 
clear  and  warm,  and  the  perspiration  stood  beaded 
on  his  forehead.  But  there  was  no  escape.  He 
knocked  at  the  door,  which  was  opened  by  Maud  in 
person,  who  greeted  him  with  a  free  and  open  kind 
ness  that  restored  his  confidence.  They  sat  down 
together,  and  Maud  chatted  gayly  and  pleasantly 
about  the  weather  and  the  news.  A  New  York 
girl,  the  daughter  of  a  wealthy  furrier,  was  reported 
in  the  newspaper  as  about  to  marry  the  third  son  of 
an  English  earl.  Maud  discussed  the  advantages  of 
the  match  on  either  side  as  if  she  had  been  the 
friend  from  childhood  of  both  parties. 

Suddenly,  while  she  was  talking  about  the  forth 
coming  wedding,  the  thought  occurred  to  Bott, 
"  Mebbe  this  is  a  hint  for  me,"  and  he  plunged  into 
his  avowal.  Turning  hot  and  cold  at  once,  and 
wringing  his  moist  hands  as  he  spoke,  he  said,  taking 
everything  for  granted : 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  203 

"  Miss  Maud,  I  have  seen  your  father  and  he  gives 
his  consent,  and  you  have  only  to  say  the  word  to 
make  us  both  happy." 

"  What  ?" 

Anger,  surprise,  and  contempt  were  all  in  the  one 
word  and  in  the  flashing  eyes  of  the  young  woman, 
as  she  leaned  back  in  her  rocking-chair  and  trans 
fixed  her  unhappy  suitor. 

"  Why,  don't  you  understand  me  ?     I  mean " 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  see  what  you  mean.  But  I  don't 
mean ;  and  if  you  had  come  to  me,  I'd  have  saved 
you  the  trouble  of  going  to  my  father." 

"  Now,  look  here,"  he  pleaded,  "  you  ain't  a-going 
to  take  it  that  way,  are  you  ?  Of  course,  I'd  have 
come  to  you  first  if  I  had  'a'  thought  you'ji  pre 
ferred  it.  All  I  wanted  was " 

"  Oh,"  said  Maud,  with  perfect  coolness  and  mal 
ice, — for  in  the  last  moment  she  had  begun  heartily 
to  hate  Bott  for  his  presumption, — "  I  understand 
what  you  want.  But  the  question  is  what  Zwant 
— and  I  don't  want  you." 

The  words,  and  still  more  the  cold  monotonous 
tone  in  which  they  were  uttered,  stung  the  dull 
blood  of  the  conjurer  to  anger.  His  mud-colored 
face  became  slowly  mottled  with  red. 

"  Well,  then,"  he  said,  "  what  did  you  mean  by 
coming  and  consulting  the  sperrits,  saying  you  was 
in  love  with  a  gentleman " 

Maud  flushed  crimson  at  the,  memory  awakened 
by  these  words.  Springing  from  her  chair,  she 
opened  the  door  for  Bott,  and  said,  "Great  good 
ness  !  the  impudence  of  some  men  !  You  thought 
I  meant  you  ?" 


204  THE   BREAD-WINKERS. 

Bott  went  out  of  the  door  like  a  whipped  hound, 
with  pale  face  and  hanging  head.  As  he  passed  by 
the  door  of  the  shop,  Saul  hailed  him  and  said  with 
a  smile,  "What  luck?" 

Bott  did  not  turn  his  head.  He  growled  out  a 
deep  imprecation  and  walked  away.  Matchin  was 
hardly  surprised.  He  mused  to  himself,  "  I  thought 
it  was  funny  that  Mattie  should  sack  Sam  Sleeny  for 
that  fellow.  I  guess  he  didn't  ask  the  sperrits  how 
the  land  lay,"  chuckling  over  the  discomfiture  of  the 
seer.  Spiritualism  is  the  most  convenient  religion 
in  the  world.  You  may  disbelieve  two-thirds  of  it 
and  yet  be  perfectly  orthodox.  Matchin,  though  a 
pillar  of  the  faith,  always  keenly  enjoyed  the  defeat 
and  rout  of  a  medium  by  his  tricksy  and  rebellious 
ghosts. 

He  was  still  laughing  to  himself  over  the  retreat 
of  Bott,  thinking  with  some  paternal  fatuity  of  the 
attractiveness  and  spirit  of  his  daughter,  when  a 
shadow  fell  across  him,  and  he  saw  Offitt  standing 
before  him. 

"  Why,  Offitt,  is  that  you  ?  I  did  not  hear  you. 
You  always  come  up  as  soft  as  a  spook !" 

"  Yes,  that's  me.     Where's  Sam  ?" 

"  Sam's  gone  to  Shady  Creek  on  an  excursion  with 
his  lodge.  My  wife  went  with  him." 

"  I  wanted  to  see  him.     I  think  a  heap  of  Sam." 

"  So  do  I.     Sam  is  a  good  fellow." 

"  Excuse  my  making  so  free,  Mr.  Matchin,  but  I 
once  thought  Sam  was  going  to  be  a  son-in-law  of 
yours." 

"  Well,  betwixt  us,  Mr.  Offitt,  I  hoped  so  myself. 
But  you  know  what  girls  is.  She  jest  wouldn't." 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  205 

"  So  it's  all  done,  is  it  ?  No  chance  for  Sam  ?" 
Offitt  asked  eagerly. 

"  Not  as  much  as  you  could  hold  sawdust  in  your 
eye,"  the  carpenter  answered. 

"  Well,  now,  Mr.  Matchin,  I  have  got  something 
to  say."  ("  Oh,  Lordy,"  groaned  Saul  to  himself, 
"  here's  another  one.")  "  I  wouldn't  take  no  advan 
tage  of  a  friend ;  but  if  Sam's  got  no  chance,  as  you 
say,  why  shouldn't  I  try  ?  With  your  permission, 
sir,  I  will." 

"  Now  look  ye  here,  Mr.  Offitt.  I  don't  know  as 
I  have  got  anything  against  you,  but  I  don't  know 
nothing  fur  you.  If  it's  a  fair  question,  how  do 
you  make  your  livin'  ?" 

"  That's  all  right.  First  place,  I  have  got  a  good 
trade.  I'm  a  locksmith." 

"  So  I  have  heard  you  say.  But  you  don't  work 
at  it." 

"  No,"  Offitt   answered ;   and   then,  assuming  a 
confidential  air,  he  continued,  "  As  I  am  to  be  one 
of  the  family,  I'll  tell  you.     I  don't  work  at  in 
trade,  because  I  have  got  a  better  thing.      I  am 
Reformer." 

"  You  don't  say !"  exclaimed  Saul.  "  I  never 
heard  o'  your  lecturinV 

"I  don't  lecture.  I  am  secretary  of  a  grand 
section  of  Labor  Reformers,  and  I  git  a  good  salary 
for  it." 

"  Oh,  I  see,"  said  Saul,  not  having  the  least  idea 
of  what  it  all  meant.  But,  like  most  fathers  of  his 
kind,  he  made  no  objection  to  the  man's  proposal, 
and  told  him  his  daughter  was  in  the  house.  As 
Offitt  walked  away  on  the  same  quest  where  Bott 


206  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

had  so  recently  come  to  wreck,  Saul  sat  smiling, 
and  nursing  his  senile  vanity  with  the  thought  that 
there  were  not  many  mechanics'  daughters  in  Buff- 
land  that  could  get  two  oilers  in  one  Sunday  from 
"  professional  men."  He  sat  with  the  contented 
inertness  of  old  men  on  his  well-worn  bench,  wait 
ing  to  see  what  would  be  the  result  of  the  inter 
view. 

"I  don't  believe  she'll  have  him,"  he  thought. 
"  He  ain't  half  the  man  that  Sam  is,  nor  half  the 
scholar  that  Bott  is." 

It  was  well  he  was  not  of  an  impatient  tempera 
ment.  He  sat  quietly  there  for  more  than  an  hour, 
as  still  as  a  knot  on  a  branch,  wondering  why  it 
took  Offitt  so  much  longer  than  Bott  to  get  an  an 
swer  to  a  plain  question  ;  but  it  never  once  occurred 
to  him  that  he  had  a  right  to  go  into  his  own  house 
and  participate  in  what  conversation  was  going  on. 
/To  American  fathers  of  his  class,  the  parlor  if 
sacred  when  the  daughter  has  company. 

There  were  several  reasons  why  Offitt  stayed 
longer  than  Bott. 

The  seer  had  left  Maud  Matchin  in  a  state  of 
high  excitement  and  anger.  The  admiration  of  a 
man  so  splay  and  ungainly  was  in  itself  insulting, 
when  it  became  so  enterprising  as  to  propose  mar 
riage.  She  felt  as  if  she  had  suffered  the  physical 
contact  of  something  not  clean  or  wholesome.  Be 
sides,  she  had  been  greatly  stirred  by  his  reference 
to  her  request  for  ghostly  counsel,  which  had  re- 
suited  in  so  frightful  a  failure  and  mortification. 
After  Bott  had  gone,  she  could  not  dismiss  the 
subject  from  her  mind.  She  said  to  herself,  "  How 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  207 

can  I  live,  hating  a  man  as  I  hate  that  Captain 
Farnham  ?  How  can  I  breathe  the  same  air  with 
him,  blushing  like  a  peony  whenever  I  think  of 
him,  and  turning  pale  with  shame  when  I  hear  his 
name  ?  That  ever  I  should  have  been  refused  by  a 
living  man !  What  does  a  man  want,"  she  asked, 
with  her  head  thrown  back  and  her  nostrils  dilated, 
"  when  he  don't  want  me  ?" 

As  she  was  walking  to  and  fro,  she  glanced  out 
of  the  window  and  saw  Offitt  approaching  from  the 
direction  of  the  shop.  She  knew  instantly  what 
his  errand  would  be,  though  he  had  never  before 
said  a  word  to  her  out  of  the  common.  "  I  wonder 
if  father  has  sent  him  to  me — and  how  many  more 
has  he  got  in  reserve  there  in  the  shop  ?  Well,  I 
will  make  short  work  of  this  one." 

But  when  he  had  come  in  and  taken  his  seat,  she 
found  it  was  not  so  easy  to  make  short  work  of  him. 

Dealing  with  this  one  was  very  different  from 
dealing  with  the  other — about  the  difference  be 
tween  handling  a  pig  and  a  panther.  Offitt  was  a 
human  beast  of  prey — furtive,  sly,  and  elusive,  with 
all  his  faculties  constantly  in  hand.  The  sight  oft 
Maud  excited  him  like  the  sight  of  prey.  His  small 
eyes  fastened  upon  her ;  his  sinewy  hands  tingled 
to  lay  hold  of  her.  But  he  talked,  as  any  casual 
visitor  might,  of  immaterial  things. 

Maud,  while  she  chatted  with  him,  was  preparing 
herself  for  the  inevitable  question  and  answer. 
"  What  shall  I  say  to  him  ?  I  do  not  like  him.  I 
never  did.  I  never  can.  But  what  shall  I  do  ?  A 
woman  is  of  no  use  in  the  world  by  herself.  He  is 
not  such  a  dunce  as  poor  Sam,  and  is  not  such  a 


208  THE    BREAD-WINNERS. 

gawk  as  Bott.  I  wonder  whether  he  would  make 
me  mind?  I  am  afraid  he  would,  and  I  don't 
know  whether  I  would  like  it  or  not.  I  suppose 
if  I  married  him  I  would  be  as  poor  as  a  crow 
all  my  days.  I  couldn't  stand  that.  I  won't  have 
him.  I  wish  he  would  make  his  little  speech  and 

go-" 

But  he  seemed  in  no  hurry  to  go.  He  was  talking 
Tolubly  about  himself,  lying  with  the  marvellous 
fluency  which  interest  and  practice  give  to  such 
men,  and  Maud  presently  found  herself  listening 
intently  to  his  stories.  He  had  been  in  Mexico,  it 
seemed.  He  owned  a  silver  mine  there.  He  got  a 
million  dollars  out  of  it,  but  took  it  into  his  head 
one  day  to  overturn  the  Government,  and  was  cap 
tured  and  his  money  taken  ;  barely  escaped  the  gar- 
rote  by  strangling  his  jailer;  owned  the  mine  still, 
and  should  go  back  and  get  it  some  day,  when  he 
had  accomplished  certain  purposes  in  this  country. 
There  were  plenty  of  people  who  wished  he  was 
gone  now.  The  President  had  sent  for  him  to  come 
to  Washington  ;  he  went,  and  was  asked  to  break 
fast  ;  nobody  there  but  them  two ;  they  ate  off  gold 
plates  like  he  used  to  in  Mexico  ;  the  President  then 
offered  him  a  hundred  thousand  to  leave,  was  afraid 
he  would  make  trouble ;  told  the  President  to  make 
it  a  million  and  then  he  wouldn't.  His  grandfather 
was  one  of  the  richest  men  in  Europe ;  his  father 
ran  away  with  his  mother  out  of  a  palace.  "You 
must  have  heard  of  my  father,  General  Offitt,  of 
Georgy  ?  No  ?  He  was  the  biggest  slaveholder  in 
the  State.  I  have  got  a  claim  against  the  Govern 
ment,  now,  that's  good  for  a  million  if  it's  worth  a 


THE   BREAD-WINKERS.  209 

cent ;  going  to  Washington  next  winter  to  prosecute 
it." 

Maud  was  now  saying  to  herself,  "  Why,  if  half 
this  is  true,  he  is  a  remarkable  man,"  like  many 
other  credulous  people,  not  reflecting  that,  when 
half  a  man  says  is  false,  the  other  half  is  apt  to  be 
also.  She  began  to  think  it  would  be  worth  her 
while,  a  red  feather  in  her  cap,  to  refuse  such  a  pic 
turesque  person ;  and  then  it  occurred  to  her  that 
he  had  not  proposed  to  marry  her,  and  possibly  had 
no  such  intention.  As  his  stream  of  talk,  dwelling 
on  his  own  acts  of  valor  and  craft,  ran  on,  she  began 
to  feel  slightly  piqued  at  its  lack  of  reference  to  her 
self.  Was  this  to  be  a  mere  afternoon  call  after  all, 
with  no  combat  and  no  victory  ?  She  felt  drawn 
after  awhile  to  bring  her  small  resources  of  coquetry 
into  play.  She  interrupted  him  with  saucy  doubts 
and  questions ;  she  cast  at  him  smiles  and  glances, 
looking  up  that  he  might  admire  her  eyes,  and  down 
that  her  lashes  might  have  their  due  effect. 

He  interpreted  all  these  signs  in  a  favorable  sense, 
but  still  prudently  refrained  from  committing  him 
self,  until  directly  challenged  by  the  blush  and  sim 
per  with  which  she  said  :  * 

"  I  suppose  you  must  have  seen  a  great  many 
pretty  ladies  in  Mexico  ?" 

He  waited  a  moment,  looking  at  her  steadily  until 
her  eyelids  trembled  and  fell,  and  then  he  said,  seri> 
ously  and  gravely : 

"  I  used  to  think  so ;  but  I  never  saw  there  or 
anywhere  else  as  pretty  a  lady  as  I  see  at  this  minute." 

This  was  the  first  time  in  her  life  that  Maud  had 
heard  such  words  from  a  man.  Sain  Sleeny,  with 
14 


210  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

all  his  dumb  worship,  had  never  found  words  to  tell 
her  she  was  beautiful,  and  Bott  was  too  grossly  self 
ish  and  dull  to  have  thought  of  it.  Poor  Sleeny, 
who  would  have  given  his  life  for  her,  had  not  wit 
enough  to  pay  her  a  compliment.  Offitt,  whose 
love  was  as  little  generous  as  the  hunger  of  a  tiger, 
who  wished  only  to  get  her  into  his  power,  who 
cared  not  in  the  least  by  what  means  he  should  ac 
complish  this,  who  was  perfectly  willing  to  have  her 
find  out  all  his  falsehoods  the  day  after  her  wedding, 
relying  upon  his  brute  strength  to  retain  her  then, 
— this  conscienceless  knave  made  more  progress  by 
these  words  than  Sam  by  months  of  the  truest  de 
votion.  Yet  the  impression  he  made  was  not  alto 
gether  pleasant.  Thirsting  for  admiration  as  she 
did,  there  was  in  her  mind  an  indistinct  conscious 
ness  that  the  man  was  taking  a  liberty ;  and  in  the 
sudden  rush  of  color  to  her  cheek  and  brow  at  Of- 
fitt's  words,  there  was  at  first  almost  as  much  anger 
as  pleasure.  But  she  had  neither  the  dignity  nor 
the  training  required  for  the  occasion,  and  all  the 
reply  she  found  was : 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Offitt,  how  can  you  say  so  ?" 

"  I  say  so,"  he  answered,  with  the  same  unsmil 
ing  gravity,  "  because  it's  the  fact.  I  have  been  all 
over  the  world.  I  have  seen  thousands  of  beautiful 
ladies,  even  queens  and  markisses,  and  I  never  yet 
saw  and  I  never  expect  to  see  such  beauty  as  yours, 
Miss  Maud  Matchin,  of  Buffland." 

She  still  found  no  means  to  silence  him  or  defend 
herself.  She  said,  with  an  uneasy  laugh,  "I  am 
sure  I  don't  see  where  the  wonderful  beauty  is." 

"  That's  because  your  modesty  holds  over  your 


THE   BEE  AD- WINDERS.  211 

beauty.  But  I  see  where  it  is.  It's  in  your  eyes, 
that's  like  two  stars  of  the  night ;  in  your  forehead, 
that  looks  full  of  intellect  and  sense ;  in  your  rosy 
cheeks  and  smiling  lips ;  in  your  pretty  little  hands 

and  feet "  Here  she  suddenly  rolled  up  her 

hands  in  her  frilled  white  apron,  and,  sitting  up 
straight,  drew  her  feet  under  her  gown.  At  this 
performance,  they  both  laughed  loud  and  long,  and 
Maud's  nerves  were  relieved. 

"  What  geese  we  are,"  she  said  at  last.  "  You 
know  I  don't  believe  a  word  you  say." 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  do.  You've  got  eyes  and  a  look 
ing-glass.  Come  now,  be  honest.  You  know  you 
never  saw  a  girl  as  pretty  as  yourself,  and  you  never 
saw  a  man  that  didn't  love  you  on  sight." 

"  I  don't  know  about  that." 

"  Don't  all  the  men  you  know  love  you  ?" 

"  There  is  one  man  I  know  hates  me,  and  I  hate 
him." 

"  Who  is  it  ?     This  is  very  interesting." 

Maud  was  suddenly  seized  with  a  desire  to  tell  an 
adventure,  something  that  might  match  Offitt's  tales 
of  wonder. 

"  You'll  never  tell  ?" 

"  Hope  I  may  die." 

"  It's  Arthur  Farnham !"  She  had  succeeded  in 
her  purpose,  for  Offitt  stared  at  her  with  lool^s  of 
amazement.  "  He  once  wanted  to  be  rather  too  at 
tentive  to  me,  and  I  did  not  like  it.  So  he  hates 
me,  and  has  tried  to  injure  me." 

"  And  you  don't  like  him  very  well  ?" 

"  I  don't.  I  would  owe  a  good  deal  to  the  man 
who  would  give  him  a  beating." 


THE   BREAD-WINDOBS. 

"  All  right.  You  give  me — what  ? — a  kiss,  or  a 
lock  of  your  hair,  and  he  shall  have  his  thrashing." 

"  You  doit  and  bring  me  the  proofs,  and  we  will 
talk  about  it." 

"Well,  I  must  be  off,"  he  said,  picking  up  his 
hat.  He  saw  on  her  face  a  slight  disappointment. 
He  put  out  his  hand  to  take  leave.  She  folded  her 
arms. 

"  You  needn't  be  in  such  a  hurry,"  she  said,  pout- 
ingly.  "  Mother  won't  be  back  for  ever  so  long,  and 
I  was  half  asleep  over  my  book  when  you  came  in." 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  he  said.     "  That  suits  me." 

He  walked  deliberately  across  the  room,  picked 
up  a  chair,  and  seated  himself  very  near  to  Maud. 
She  felt  her  heart  beat  with  something  like  terror, 
and  regretted  asking  him  to  stay.  He  had  been 
very  agreeable,  but  she  was  sure  he  was  going  to  J>e 
disagreeable  now.  She  was  afraid  that  if  he  grew 
disagreeable  she  could  not  manage  him  as  she  could 
the  others.  Her  worst  fears  were  realized  witfi  his 
first  words.  * 

"  Miss  Matchin,  if  you  ask  me  to  stay  longer,  you 
must  take  the  consequences.  I  am  going  to  say  to 
you  what  I  never  said  to  mortal  woman  before :  I 
love  you,  and  I  want  you  for  my  wife." 

She  tried  to  laugh.  "  Oh,  you  do  ?"  but  her  face 
grew  pale,  and  her  hands  trembled. 

"  Yes,  I  do ;  and  I  am  going  to  have  you,  too." 

He  tried  to  speak  lightly,  but  his  voice  broke  in 
epite  of  him.  * 

"  Oh,  indeed  !"  she  replied,  recovering  herself  with 
an  effort.  "Perhaps  Pll  have  something  to  say 
about  that,  Mr.  Confidence." 


THE  BREAD-WINNERS.  213 

"  Of  course ;  excuse  me  for  talking  like  a  fool. 
Only  have  me,  and  you  shall  have  everything  else. 
All  that  wealth  can  buy  shall  be  yours.  We'll 
leave  this  dull  place  and  go  around  the  world  seeking 
pleasure  where  it  can  be  found,  and  everybody  will 
envy  me  my  beauteous  bride." 

"  That's  very  pretty  talk,  Mr.  Offitt ;  but  where 
is  all  this  wealth  to  come  from  ?" 

He  did  not  resent  the  question,  but  heard  it  gladly, 
as  imposing  a  condition  he  might  meet.  "  The 
money  is  all  right.  If  I  lay  the  money  at  your  feet, 
will  you  go  with  me  ?  Only  give  me  your  promise." 

"  I  promise  nothing,"  said  Maud ;  "  but  when  you 
are  ready  to  travel,  perhaps  you  may  find  me  in  a 
better  humor." 

The  words  seemed  to  fire  him.  "  That's  tpromise 
enough  for  me,"  he  cried,  and  put  out  his  arms  to 
ward  her.  She  struck  down  his  hands,  and  pro 
tested  with  sudden,  cattish  energy : 

"  Let  me  alone.  Don't  you  come  so  near  me.  I 
don't  like  it.  Now  you  can  go,"  she  addepl.  "  I 
have  got  a  lot  to  think  about."  | 

He  thought  he  would  not  spoil  his  sjiccess  by 
staying.  "Good-by,  then,"  he  said,  kissing  his 
fingers  to  her.  "  Good-by  for  a  little  while,  my 
own  precious." 

He  turned  at  the  door.  "  This  is  between  us, 
ain't  it?" 

"  Yes,  what  there  is  of  it,"  she  saidj  with  a  smile 
that  took  all  sting  from  the  words. 

He  walked  to  the  shop,  and  wrung  the  old  man's 
hand.  His  look  of  exultation  caused  Saul  to  say, 
"All  settled,  eh?" 


THE  BREAD-WINNERS. 

"  No,"  said  Offitt ;  "  but  I  have  hopes.  And 
now,  Mr.  Matchin,  you  know  young  ladies  and  the 
ways  of  the  world.  I  ask  you,  as  a  gentleman,  not 
to  say  nothing  about  this,  for  the  present,  to  no 
body." 

Saul,  proud  of  his  secret,  readily  promised. 


THE  BREAD-WIKKERS.  215 


XIV. 

CAPTAIN  FARNH AM  SEES  ACTIVE  SERVICE  AGAIN. 

FARNHAM  lost  no  time  in  calling  upon  the  Mayor 
to  fulfil  his  engagement.  He  found  his  Honor  a 
little  subdued  by  the  news  of  the  morning.  None 
of  the  strikers  of  the  day  before  had  gone  back  to 
work,  and  considerable  accessions  were  reported 
from  other  trades.  The  worst  symptoms  seemed  to 
be  that  many  shops  were  striking  without  orders. 
The  cessation  of  work  was  already  greater  than 
seemed  at  first  contemplated  by  the  leading  agitators 
themselves.  They  seemed  to  be  losing  their  own, 
control  of  the  workingmen,  and  a  few  tonguey  va 
grants  and  convicts  from  the  city  and  from  neigh 
boring  towns,  who  had  come  to  the  surface  from 
nobody  knew  where,  were  beginning  to  exercise  a 
wholly  unexpected  authority.  They  were  going 
from  place  to  place,  haranguing  the  workmen, 
preaching  what  they  called  socialism,  but  what  was 
I  merely  riot  and  plunder.  They  were  listened  to 
without  much  response.  In  some  places  the  men 
stopped  work ;  in  others  they  drove  out  the  agita 
tors  ;  in  others  they  would  listen  awhile,  and  then 
shout,  "  Give  us  a  rest  I"  or  "  Hire  a  hall  1"  or  ""W.ipe 
off  your  chin  I"  But  all  the  while  the  crowds  gradu 
ally  increased  in  the  streets  and  public  places  ;  the 
strike,  if  it  promised  nothing  worse,  was  taking  the 


216  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

dimensions  of  a  great,  sad,  anxious  holiday.  There 
was  not  the  slightest  intention  on  the  part  of  the  au 
thorities  to  interfere  with  it,  and  to  do  them  justice, 
it  is  hard  to  see  what  they  could  have  done,  with 
the  means  at  their  disposal.  The  Mayor,  therefore, 
welcomed  Farnham  with  great  cordiality,  made  him 
a  captain  of  police,  for  special  duty,  on  the  spot,  and 
enrolled  his  list  of  recruits  of  the  night  before  as 
members  of  the  police  force  of  the  city,  expressly 
providing  that  their  employment  should  cost  the 
city  nothing,  now  or  hereafter. 

Farnham  again  made  his  rounds  of  the  city,  but 
found  nothing  especially  noteworthy  or  threatening. 
The  wide  town,  in  spite  of  the  large  crowds  in  the 
streets,  had  a  deserted  look.  A  good  many  places 
of  business  were  closed.  There  was  little  traffic  of 
vehicles.  The  whistle  of  the  locomotives  and'  the 
rush  of  trains — sounds  which  had  grown  so  familiar 
in  that  great  railroad  centre  that  the  ear  ceased  to 
be  affected  by  them — being  suddenly  shut  off,  the 
silence  which  came  in  their  place  was  startling  to 
the  sense.  The  voices  of  the  striking  employees, 
who  retained  possession  of  the  Union  Passenger 
Depot,  resounded  strangely  through  the  vast  build 
ing,  which  was  usually  a  babel  of  shrill  and  strident 
sounds.  • 

On  the  whole,  the  feature  which  most  struck  him 
in  this  violent  and  unnatural  state  of  things  was  the 
singular  good-nature  of  almost  all  classes.  The  mass 
of  the  workingmen  made  no  threats ;  the  greater 
number  of  employers  made  no  recriminations.  All 
hoped  for  an  arrangement,  though  no  one  could  say 
how  it  was  to  come.  The  day  passed  away  in  fruit- 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

less  parleys,  and  at  night  the  fever  naturally  rose,  as 
is  the  way  of  fevers. 

When  nightfall  came,  the  crowd  had  become  so 
great  in  the  public  square  that  Farnham  thought  it 
might  be  better  not  to  inarch  his  improvised  police 
men  in  a  body  up-town.  He  therefore  dispatched 
orders  to  Kendall  to  send  them  up  with  their  arms, 
singly  or  by  twos  and  threes,  to  his  house.  By 
eight  o'clock  they  were  all  there,  and  he  passed  an 
hour  or  so  in  putting  them  through  a  rude  form  of 
drill  and  giving  them  the  instructions  which  he  had 
prepared  during  the  day.  His  intention  was  to  keep 
them  together  on  his  own  place  during  the  early  part 
of  the  night,  and  if,  toward  midnight,  all  seemed 
quiet,  to  scatter  them  as  a  patrol  about  the  neighbor, 
hood ;  in  case  of  serious  disturbance  anywhere  else, 
to  be  ready  to  take  part  in  restoring  order. 

About  nine  o'clock  a  man  was  seen  coming  rapidly 
from  the  house  to  the  rear  garden,  where  Farnham 
and  his  company  were.  The  men  were  dispersed 
about  the  place ;  some  on  the  garden  seats,  some 
lying  on  the  grass  in  the  clear  moonlight.  Farnfaam 
was  a  little  apart,  talking  with  Kendall  and  Gross- 
hammer.  He  started  up  to  meet  the  intruder ;  it 
was  Mr.  Temple. 

"  What's  all  this  P  said  Temple. 

"  The  manly  art  of  self-defence,"  said  Farnham, 
smiling. 

O 

"  I  see,  and  I  am  glad  to  see  it,  too,"  answered 
Temple,  warmly.  "  One  of  my  men  told  me  an 
hour  ago  that  in  the  Tramps'  Lodging  House,  last 
night,  it  was  the  common  talk  that  there  would  be 
a  rush  on  the  houses  in  this  region  to-night.  I  went 


318  THE   BREAD-WINDERS. 

to  the  Mayor  and  tried  to  see  him,  but  he  was  hid 
ing,  I  think.  I  went  to  the  Chief  of  Police,  and 
he  was  in  a  blue  funk.  So  I  thought  I  would  come 
up  myself  and  see  you.  I  knew  you  could  raise  a 
few  men  among  your  servants  over  here,  and  I 
would  bring  half  a  dozen,  and  we  could  answer  for 
a  few  tramps,  anyhow.  But  you  are  all  right,  and 
there  is  nothing  to  do  but  wait  for  them." 

"  Yes,  thank  you  1"  said  Farnham,  "  though  I  am 
a  thousand  times  obliged  to  you  for  your  good-will. 
I  won't  forget  it  in  a  hurry,  old  man.  Are  you  go 
ing  home  now  ?  I  will  walk  a  block  or  two  with 
you." 

"  No,  I  am  not  going  home — not  by" — [we  draw 
the  veil  over  Temple's  language  at  this  point].  "  I 
have  come  to  spend  the  evening.  Have  you  any 
tools  for  me?" 

"  Nonsense,  my  dear  fellow !  there  is  not  the  least 
use  of  it.  There  is  not  one  chance  in  a  million  that 
there  will  be  anything  to  do." 

The  two  men  were  walking  toward  the  house. 
Temple  said  :  "  Don't  be  too  sure  of  it.  As  I  passed 
by  the  corner  of  the  Square  ten  minutes  ago,  there 
was  a  fellow  in  front  of  Mouchem's  gin-mill,  a  long 
haired,  sallow-looking  pill,  who  was  making  as  "ugly 
a  speech  to  a  crowd  of  ruffians  as  I  ever  heard. 
One  phrase  was  something  like  this :  '  Yes,  my  fel 
low-toilers  ' — he  looked  like  he  had  never  worked  a 
muscle  in  his  life  except  his  jaw-tackle, — '  the  time 
has  come.  The  hour  is  at  hand.  The  people  rule. 
Tyranny  is  down.  Enter  in  and  take  possession  of 
the  spoilers'  gains.  Algonquin  Avenue  is  heaped 
with  riches  wrung  from  the  sweat  of  the  poor. 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  219 

Clean  out  the  abodes  of  blood  guiltiness.'  And  you 
ought  to  have  heard  the  ki-yi's  that  followed.  That 
encouraged  him,  and  he  went  on :  <  Algonquin 
Avenue  is  a  robbers'  cave,  It's  very  handsome,  but 
it  needs  one  thing  more.'  '  What's  that  ? '  some 
fellows  yelled.  *  An  aristocrat  hung  to  every  lamp 
post.'  This  was  very  popular  too,  you  can  bet  your 
boots.  On  that  I  toddled  off,  so  as  to  get  you  a 
chance  to  say  your  peccavy,  anyhow." 

Walking  and  talking  together,  they  had  passed 
the  house  and  come  to  the  gate  opening  on  the 
Avenue. 

"  You  might  shut  these  wide  gates,"  said  Temple. 

"  I  do  not  think  they  have  been  shut  in  ten  years," 
Farnham  answered.  "Let's  try  it." 

The  effort  was  unsuccessful.  The  heavy  gates 
would  not  budge.  Suddenly  a  straggling,  irregular 
cheer  was  heard  from  the  direction  of  the  Square. 
"  There !"  said  Temple,  "  my  friend  the  orator  has 
got  off  another  good  thing." 

But  Farnham,  who  had  stepped  outside  at  the 
sound  and  gazed  on  the  moon-lighted  avenue,  said, 
"  There  they  come  now  !" 

They  both  ran  back  to  the  house,  Farnham  blow 
ing  his  watchman's  whistle.  "  See  here,"  said  Tem 
ple,  "I  must  have  some  tools.  You  have  a  club 
and  revolver.  Give  me  the  club,"  which  he  took 
without  more  ceremony.  The  men  came  up  from 
the  garden  in  an  instant,  and  quickly  fell  in  at  Farn- 
ham's  word  of  command.  Masked  by  the  shadows 
of  the  trees  and  the  shrubbery,  they  were  not  dis 
cernible  from  the  street. 

"  Remember,"  said  Farnham.     "  Use  your  clubs 


220  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

as  much  as  you  see  fit,  if  you  come  to  close  quarters ; 
but  do  not  fire  without  orders,  unless  to  save  your 
own  lives.  I  don't  think  it  is  likely  that  these  fel 
lows  are  armed." 

The  clattering  of  feet  grew  louder  on  the  side 
walk,  and  in  a  moment  the  leaders  of  the  gang — it 
could  hardly  be  called  a  mob — stopped  by  the  gates. 
"  Here's  the  place.  Come  along  boys!"  one  of 
them  shouted,  but  no  one  stirred  until  the  whole 
party  came  up.  They  formed  a  dense  crowd  about 
the  gates  ano^  half-filled  the  wide  avenue.  There 
was  evidently  a  moment  of  hesitation,  and  then 
three  or  four  rushed  through  the  gate,  followed  by 
a  larger  number,  and  at  last  by  the  bulk  of  the 
crowd.  They  had  come  so  near  the  porch  that  it 
could  now  be  seen  by  the  light  of  the  moon  that 
few  of  them  carried  arms.  Some  had  sticks ;  one 
or  two  men  carried  heavy  stones  in  their  hands ;  one 
young  man  brandished  an  axe ;  one  had  a  hammer. 
There  was  evidently  no  attempt  at  organization 
whatever. 

Farnham  waited  until  they  were  only  a  few  feet 
away,  and  then  shouted  : 

"  Forward !  Guide  right !  Double  time !  March !" 

The  men  darted  out  from  the  shadow  and  began 
to  lay  about  them  with  their  clubs.  A  yell  of  dis 
may  burst  from  the  crowd.  Those  in  front  turned 
and  met  those  behind,  and  the  whole  mass  began 
striking  out  wildly  at  each  other.  Yelling  and  curs 
ing,  they  were  forced  back  over  the  lawn  to  the 
gate.  Farnham,  seeing  that  no  shots  had  been  fired, 
was  confirmed  in  his  belief  that  the  rioters  were 
without  organization  and,  to  a  great  extent,  without 


THE  BREAD-WINNERS. 

arms.  He  therefore  ordered  his  men  to  the  right 
about  and  brought  them  back  to  the  house.  This 
movement  evidently  encouraged  the  mob.  Loud 
voices  were  distinctly  heard. 

"  Who's  afraid  of  half  a  dozen  cops  ?"  said  a  burly 
ruffian,  who  carried  a  slung-shot.  "  There's  enough 
of  us  to  eat  'em  up." 

"  That's  the  talk,  Bowersox,"  said  another.    "  You  j| 
go  in  and  get  the  first  bite." 

"  That's  my  style,"  said  Bowersox.  "  Come 
along,  Offitt.  Where's  Bott  ?  I  guess  he  don't  feel 
very  well.  Come  along,  boys  !  We'll  slug  'em  this 
time !"  And  the  crowd,  inspirited  by  this  exhorta 
tion  and  the  apparent  weakness  of  the  police  -force, 
made  a  second  rush  for  the  house. 

Temple  was  standing  next  to  Farnham.  "  Ar 
thur,"  he  whispered,  "  let's  change  weapons  a  mo 
ment,"  handing  Farnham  his  club  and  taking  the 
revolver  from  his  hand.  Farnham  hardly  noticed 
the  exchange,  so  intently  was  he  watching  the  ad 
vance  of  the  crowd,  which  he  saw,  in  a  moment, 
was  far  more  serious  than  the  first.  They  were 
coming  up  more  solidly,  and  the  advantage  of  the 
surprise  was  now  gone.  He  waited,  however,  until 
they  were  almost  as  near  as  they  had  been  before, 
and  then  gave  the  order  to  charge,  in  the  same 
words  as  before,  but  in  a  much  sharper  and  •  louder- 
tone,  which  rang  out  like  a  sudden  blast  from  a 
trumpet. 

The  improvised  policemen  darted  forward  and 
attacked  as  vigorously  as  ever,  but  the  assailants 
stood   their  ground.     There  were  blows  given  as  . 
well  as  taken  this  time.     There  was  even  a  mo 


222  THE   BREAD-WINKERS. 

ment's  confusion  on  the  extreme  right  of  the  line, 
where  the  great  bulk  of  Bowersox  bore  down  one 
of  the  veterans.  Farnham  sprang  forward  and 
struck  the  burly  ruffian  with  his  club  ;  but  his  foot 
slipped  on  the  grass,  and  he  dropped  on  one  knee. 
Bowersox  raised  his  slung-shot ;  a  single  report  of  a 
pistol  rang  out,  and  he  tumbled  forward  over  Farn 
ham,  who  sprang  to  his  feet  and  shouted,  "  Now, 
men,  drive  'em!"  Taking  the  right  himself  and 
profiting  by  the  momentary  shock  of  the  shot,  they 
got  the  crowd  started  again,  and  by  vigorous  club 
bing  drove  them  once  more  into  the  street. 

Returning  to  the  shadow  by  the  house,  Farnham's 
first  question  was,  "  Is  anybody  hurt  ?" 

"I've  got  a  little  bark  knocked  off,"  said  one 
quiet  fellow,  who  came  forward  showing  a  ghastly 
face  bathed  in  blood  from  a  wound  in  his  foreheads 
Farnham  looked  at  him  a  moment,  and  then,  run 
ning  to  his  door,  opened  it  and  called  Budsey.  who 
had  been  hiding  in  the  cellar,  praying  to  all  his 
saints. 

"  Here,  Budsey,  take  this  man  down  to  the  coach 
man's  house,  and  then  go  round  the  corner  and 
bring  Dr.  Cutts.  If  he  isn't  there,  get  somebody 
else.  It  does  not  amount  to  much,  but  there  will 
be  less  scar  if  it  is  attended  to  at  once." 

The  man  was  starting  away  with  Budsey,  when 
Temple  said,  "Look  here!  You  won't  need  that 
arsenal  any  more  to-night.  Pass  it  over,"  and  took 
the  man's  belt,  with  club  and  pistol,  and  buckled 
them  around  his  own  slim  waist.  Handing  Farn- 
harn  his  own  pistol,  he  said  :  "  Thanks,  Arthur.  I 
owe  you  one  cartridge." 


THE   BREAD-WINKERS.  223 

"And  I  owe  you,  God  knows  how  much !" 

Farnham  then  briefly  announced  to  his  men  that 
the  shot  which  had  just  been  fired  was  not  by  a 
member  of  the  company,  and  was,  therefore,  not  a 
disobedience  of  orders.  Catching  sight  of  Bower- 
sox  lying  motionless  on  the  grass,  he  ordered, 

"  Two  file-closers  from  the  right,  go  and  bring  in 
that  man !" 

But  at  that  moment  Bowersox  moved,  sat  up  and 
looked  about  him,  and,  suddenly  remembering  where 
he  was,  struggled  to  his  feet  and  half-ran,  half  stag 
gered  to  his  friends  in  the  street.  They  gathered 
about  him  for  a  moment,  and  then  two  of  them 
were  seen  supporting  him  on  his  way  into  the  town. 

Farnham  was  standing  behind  his  men,  and  a 
little  apart.  He  was  thinking  whether  it  might  not 
be  best  to  take  them  at  once  into  the  street  and  dis 
perse  the  crowd,  when  he  felt  a  touch  at  his  elbow. 
He  turned,  and  saw  his  gardener,  Ferguson.  . 

"  If  I  might  speak  a  word,  sir !" 

"  Certainly — what  is  it  ?     But  be  quick  about  it." 

"  I  think  all  is  not  right  at  the  Widow  Belding's. 
I  was  over  there  but  now,  and  a  dozen  men — I  did 
not  count  them, — but — " 

"  Heavens !  why  did  I  not  think  of  that  ?  Ken 
dall,  you  take  command  of  these  men  for  a  moment. 
Bolty,  you  and  the  three  files  on  the  left  come  with 
me.  Come,  Temple, — the  back  way."  And  he 
started  at  a  pace  so  rapid  that  the  others  could  hard 
ly  keep  him  in  sight. 

After  the  first  repulse  of  the  crowd,  Offitt,  Bott, 
and  a  few  more  of  the  Bread-winners,,  together  with 
some  of  the  tramps  and  jail-birds  who  had  come  for 


224:  THE   BKE AD- WINNERS. 

plunder,  gathered  together  across  the  street  and 
agreed  upon  a  diversion.  It  was  evident,  they  said, 
that  Farnham  had  a  considerable  police  force  with 
him  to  protect  his  property ;  it  was  useless  to  waste 
any  more  time  there ;  let  the  rest  stay  these  and 
occupy  the  police ;  they  could  have  more  fun  and 
more  profit  in  some  of  the  good  houses  in  the  neigh 
borhood.  "  Yes,"  one  suggested,  "  Jairus  Belding's 
widder  lives  just  a  step  off.  Lots  o'  silver  and  things. 
Less  go  there." 

They  slipped  away  in  the  confusion  of  the  second 
rush,  and  made  their  way  through  the  garden  to 
Mrs.  Belding's.  They  tried  the  door,  and,  finding 
it  locked,  they  tore  off  the  shutters  and  broke  the 
windows,  and  made  their  way  into  the  drawing- 
room,  where  Mrs.  Belding  and  Alice  were  sitting. 

They  had  been  alarmed  by  the  noise  and  tumult  * 
in  front  of  Farnham's  house,  and  had  locked  and 
bolted  their  own  doors  in  consequence.     Passing 
through  the  kitchen  in  their  rounds,  they  found* 
Ferguson   there    in   conversation   with    the   cook* 
"  Why,  Fergus !"  said  the  widow :  "  why  are  you  * 
not  at  home  ?     They  are  having  lively  times  over 
there,  are  they  not  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  the  gardener ;  "  but  they  have  a 
plenty  of  men  with  arms,  and  I  thought  I'd  e'en 
step  over  here  and  hearten  up  Bessie  a  bit." 

"  I'm  sure  she  ought  to  be  very  much  obliged," 
responded  Mrs.  Belding,  dryly,  though,  to  speak 
the  truth,  she  was  not  displeased  to  have  a  man 
in  the  house,  however  little  she  might  esteem  his 
valor. 

"  I  have  no  doubt  he  sneaked  away  from  the  f uss/' 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  225 

she  said  to  Alice ;  u  but  I  would  rather  have  him  in 
the  kitchen  than  nothing." 

Alice  assented.  "That  is  what  they  mean  by 
moral  support,  I  suppose." 

She  spoke  with  a  smile,  but  her  heart  was  ill  at 
ease.  The  man  she  loved  was,  for  all  she  knew,  in 
deadly  danger,  and  she  could  not  show  that  she 
cared  at  all  for  him,  for  fear  of  showing  that  she 
cared  too  much. 

"I  am  really  anxious  about  Arthur  Farnham," 
continued  Mrs.  Belding.  "  I  hope  he  will  not  get 
himself  into  any  scrape  with  those  men." 

The  tumult  on  the  street  and  on  the  lawn  had  as 
yet  presented  itself  to  her  in  no  worse  light  than  as 
a  labor  demonstration,  involving  cheers  and  rude 
language.  "  I  am  afraid  he  won't  be  polite  enough 
to  them.  He  might  make  them  a  little  speech, 
complimenting  Ireland  and  the  American  flag,  and 
then  they  would  go  away.  That's  what  your  father 
did,  in  that  strike  on  the  Wabash.  It  was  in  the 
papers  at  the  time.  But  these  soldiers — I'm  afraid 
Arthur  mayn't  be  practical  enough." 

"  Fortunately,  we  are  not  responsible  for  him," 
said  Alice,  whose  heart  was  beating  violently. 

"  Why,  Alice !  what  a  heartless  remark  !'\ 

At  this  instant  the  windows  came  crashing  in,  and 
a  half-dozen  ruffians  burst  into  the  room.  Alice 
sprang,  pale  and  silent,  to  the  side  of  her  mother, 
who  sat,  paralyzed  with  fright,  in  her  rocking-chair. 

A  man  came  forward  from  the  group  of  assail 
ants.     His  soft  hat  was  drawn  down  over  his*  eyes, 
and  a  red  handkerchief  concealed  the  lower  part  of 
his  face.     His  voice  was  that  of  Offitt,  as  he  said, 
15 


» 
226  THE   BREAD-WINKERS. 

"  Ladies,  we  don't  want  to  do  no  violence  ;  but,  in 
the  name  of  the  Revolutionary  Committee,  we  have 
called  to  collect  an  assessment  on  you."  This  ma 
chinery  was  an  invention  of  the  moment,  and  was 
received  with  great  satisfaction  by  the  Bread 
winners. 

"  That's  what's  the  matter,"  they  said,  in  chorus. 
"  Your  assessment,  and  be  lively  about  it.  All  you've 
got  handy." 

"  I  have  no  money  in  the  house,"  Mrs.  Belding 
cried.  "  "What  shall  I  do  3" 

"  You  forget,  mamma,"  said  Alice.  "  There  is 
some  upstairs.  If  these  gentlemen  will  wait  here  a 
moment,  I  will  go  and  get  it." 

Offitt  looked  at  her  sharply.  "  Well,  run  and  get 
it.  Bott,  you  go  with  her." 

Bott  turned  angrily  upon  his  chief.  "  What's  the 
use  of  calling  names  ?  What  if  I  said  your  name 

"  There,  there,  don't  keep  the  lady  waiting." 
Alice  turned  from  the  room,  closely  followed  by 
Bott.  Reaching  the  stairs,  she  swept  up  the  long 
flight  with  the  swift  grace  of  a  swallow.  Bott 
hurried  after  her  as  fast  as  he  could  ;  but  she  gained 
her  bedroom  door  enough  in  advance  to  shut  and 
lock  it  between  them,  leaving  him  kicking  and 
swearing  in  the  hall.  She  ran  to  her  open  window, 
which  looked  toward  Farnham's,  and  sent  the  voice 
of  her  love  and  her  trouble  together  into  the  clear 
night  in  one  loud  cry,  "  Arthur !" 

She  blushed  crimson  as  the  word  involuntarily 
broke  from  her  lips,  and  cried  again  as  loudly  as  she 
could,  "Help!" 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  227 

"  I  hope  he  did  not  hear  me  at  first,"  she  said, 
covering  her  face  with  her  hands,  and  again  she 
cried,  "Help!" 

"  Shut  up  that  noise,"  said  Bott,  who  was  kicking 
violently  at  the  door,  but  could  not  break  it  down. 
"  Shut  up,  or  I'll  wring  your  neck." 

She  stopped,  not  on  account  of  his  threats,  which 
suddenly  ceased,  but  because  she  heard  the  noise  of 
footsteps  on  the  porch,  and  of  a  short  but  violent 
scuffle,  which  showed  that  aid  of  some  sort  had  ar 
rived.  In  a  few  moments  she  heard  Bott  run  away 
from  her  door.  He  started  toward  the  stairs,  but 
finding  his  retreat  cut  off  ran  to  the  front  window, 
closely  pursued.  She  heard  a  scramble.  Then  a 
voice  which  made  her  heart  beat  tumultuously  said. 
"  Look  out  below  there." 

A  moment  after,  the  same  voice  said,  "  Have  you 
got  him?"  and  then,  "All  right!  keep  him." 

A  light  knock  on  her  door  followed,  and  Farnham 
said,  "  Miss  Belding." 

Alice  stood  by  the  door  a  moment  before  she 
could  open  it.  Her  heart  was  still  thumping,  her 
voice  failed  her,  she  turned  white  and  red  in  a  mo 
ment.  The  strongest  emotion  of  which  she  was 
conscious  was  the  hope  that  Arthur  had  not  heard 
her  call  him  by  his  name. 

She  opened  the  door  with  a  gravity  which  was 
almost  ludicrous.  Her  first  words  were  wholly  so. 

"  Good-evening,  Captain  Farnham,"  was  all  she 
oould  find  to  say.  Then,  striving  desperately  to  add 
something  more  gracious,  she  stammered,  "  Mamma 
will  be  very " 

"  Glad  to  see  me  in  the  drawing-room  ? "  Farnham 


228  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

laughed.  "  I  have  no  doubt  of  it.  She  is  quite  safe 
there;  and  your  visitors  have  gone.  Will  you  join 
her  now?" 

She  could  not  help  perceiving  the  slight  touch  of 
sarcasm  in  his  tone.  She  saw  he  was  hurt  by  her 
coldness  and  shyness,  and  that  made  her  still  more 
cold  and  shy.  Without  another  word  she  walked 
before  him  to  the  drawing-room,  where  Mrs.  Beld- 
ing  still  sat  in  her  rocking-chair,  moaning  and  wring 
ing  her  hands.  Mr.  Temple  was  standing  beside 
her  trying  to  soothe  her,  telling  her  it  was  all  over. 
Bolty  was  tying  the  arms  of  one  of  the  ruffians  be 
hind  him,  who  lay  on  the  floor  on  his  face.  There 
was  no  one  else  in  the  room. 

Alice  knelt  on  the  floor  by  her  mother  and  took 
her  in  her  arms.  "  You  are  not  hurt,  are  you, 
mamma  dear  ?"  she  said,  in  a  soft,  tender  tone,  as  if 
she  were  caressing  a  crying  child. 

"  Oh,  no !  I  suppose  not,"  said  the  widow  ;  "  but 
I  am  not  used  to  such  doings  at  this  time  of  night, 
and  I  don't  like  them.  Captain  Farnham,  how  shall 
I  ever  thank  you  ?  and  you,  Mr.  Temple  ?  Good 
ness  knows  what  we  should  have  done  without  you. 
Alice,  the  moment  you  left  the  room,  some  of  them 
ran  to  the  sideboard  for  the  silver,  another  one  pro 
posed  to  set  the  house  afire,  and  that  vile  creature 
with  the  red  handkerchief  asked  me  for  my  ear-rings 
and  my  brooch.  I  was  trying  to  be  as  long  as  I 
could  about  getting  them  off,  when  these  gentle 
men  came  in.  I  tell  you  they  looked  like  angels, 
and  I'll  tell  your  wife  so  when  I  see  her,  Mr.  Tem 
ple  ;  and  as  for  Arthur " 

At  this  moment  Bolty,  having  finished  the  last 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  229 

knot  to  his  satisfaction,  rose  and  touched  his  prisoner 
with  his  foot.  "  Captain,"  he  said,  saluting  Farn- 
ham,  "  vot  I  shall  do  mit  dis  schnide  ?" 

"They  have  got  the  one  I  dropped  from  the 
window  ?" 

"  Jawohl !  on  de  gravel- walk  draussen !"  •' 

"Yery  well.  Take  them  both  to  the  stable  be 
hind  my  house  for  the  present,  and  make  them  fast 
together.  Then  come  back  here  and  stand  guard 
awhile  with  the  men  on  the  porch,  till  I  relieve 
you." 

"  All  right.  Git  up  mid  yourself,"  he  said,  touch 
ing  his  prostrate  foe  not  so  gently,  "  and  vor- 
waerts." 

As  they  went  out,  Farnham  turned  to  Mrs.  Beld- 
ing,  and  said,  "I  think  you  will  have  no  more 
trouble.  The  men  I  leave  as  a  guard  will*  be  quite 
sufficient,  I  have  no  doubt.  I  must  hurry  back  and 
dismiss  the  friends  who  have  been  serenading  me." 

She  gazed  at  him,  not  quite  comprehending,  and 
then  said,  "Well,  if  you  must  go,  good-night,  and 
thank  you  a  thousand  times.  When  I  have  my  wits 
about  me  I  will  thank  you  better." 

Arthur  answered  laughingly  as  he  shook  hands. 
"  Oh,  that  is  of  no  consequence.  It  was  merely 
neighborly.  You  would  have  done  as  much  for 
me,  I  am  sure."  And  the  gentlemen  took  their 
leave. 

When  the  ladies  were  alone,  Mrs.  Belding  re 
sumed  her  story  of  the  great  transaction.  "  Why, 
it  will  be  something  to  tell  about  as  long  as  I  live," 
she  said.  "You  had  hardly  got  upstairs  when  I 
heard  a  noise  of  fighting  outside  on  the  walk  and 


230  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

the  porch.  Then  Arthur  and  Mr.  Temple  came 
through  that  window  as  if  they  were  shot  out  of  a 
cannon.  The  thief  who  stood  by  me,  the  red  hand 
kerchief  one,  did  not  stop,  but  burst  through  the 
hall  into  the  kitchen  and  escaped  the  back  way. 
Then  Mr.  Temple  took  another  one  and  positively 
threw  him  through  the  window,  while  Arthur,  with 
that  policeman's  club,  knocked  the  one  down  whom 
you  saw  the  German  tying  up.  It  was  all  done  in 
an  instant,  and  I  just  sat  and  screamed  for  my  share 
of  the  work.  Then  Arthur  came  and  caught  me 
by  the  shoulder,  and  almost  shook  me,  and  said, 
4  Where  is  Alice?'  Upon  my  word,  I  had  almost 
forgotten  you.  I  said  you  were  upstairs,  and  one 
of  those  wretches  was  there  too.  He  looked  as 
black  as  a  fury,  and  went  up  in  about  three  steps. 
I  always  thought  he  had  such  a  sweet  temper,  but 
to-night  he  seemed  just  to  love  to  fight.  Now  I 
think  of  it,  Alice,  you  hardly  spoke  to  him.  You 
must  not  let  him  think  we  are  ungrateful.  You 
must  write  him  a  nice  note  to-morrow." 

Alice  laid  her  head  upon  her  mother's  shoulder, 
where  her  wet  eyes  could  not  be  seen.  "  Mamma," 
she  asked,  "  did  he  say  <  "Where  is  Alice  ? '  Did  he 
say  nothing  but  i  Alice '  ?" 

"  Now,  don't  be  silly,"  said  Mrs.  Belding.  "  Of 
course  he  said  '  Alice.'  You  wouldn't  expect  a  man 
to  be  Miss  Beldinging  you  at  such  a  time.  You  are 
quite  too  particular." 

"  He  called  me  Miss  Belding  when  he  came  up 
stairs,"  said  Alice,  still  hiding  her  face. 

"  And  what  did  you  say  to  him — for  saving  this 
house  and  all  our  lives?" 


THE  BREAD-WINNERS. 


The  girl's  overwrought  nerves  gave  way.  She  had 
only  breath  enough  to  say,  "  I  said  '  Good  evening, 
Captain  Farnham  !  '  Wasn't  it  too  perfectly  ridicu 
lous  ?"  and  then  burst  into  a  flood  of  mingled  laugh 
ter  and  tears,  which  nothing  could  check,  until  she 
had  cried  herself  quiet  upon  her  mother's  bosom. 


232  THE  BREAD-WINNERS. 


XV. 

THE  WHIP  OF  THE  SCYTHIANS. 

FABNHAM  and  Temple  walked  hastily  back  to 
where  they  had  left  Kendall  with  the  rest  of  the 
company.  They  found  him  standing  like  a  statute 
just  where  he  had  been  placed  by  Farnham.  The 
men  were  ranged  in  the  shadow  of  the  shrubbery 
and  the  ivy-clad  angle  of  the  house.  The  moon 
shone  full  on  the  open  stretch  of  lawn,  and  outside 
the  gates  a  black  mass  on  the  sidewalk  and  the  street 
showed  that  the  mob  had  not  left  the  place.  But 
it  seemed  sluggish  and  silent. 

"  Have  they  done  anything  new  ?"  asked  Farn 
ham. 

"  ISTothin',  but  fire  a  shot  or  two — went  agin  the 
wall  overhead ;  and  once  they  heaved  a  lot  of  rocks, 
but  it  was  too  fur — didn't  git  more'n  half  way. 
That's  all." 

"  We  don't  want  to  stand  here  looking  at  each 
other  all  night,"  said  Farnham. 

O         7 

"  Let's  go  out  and  tell  them  it's  bed-time,"  sug 
gested  Temple. 

"Agreed!"  said  Farnham.  He  turned  to  his 
men,  and  in  a  voice  at  first  so  low  that  it  could  not 
have  been  heard  ten  feet  away,  yet  so  clear  that 
every  syllable  was  caught  by  his  soldiers,  he  gave 
the  words  of  command. 


THE   BREAD-WIKNERS.  233 

"  Company,  attention  !  Bight,  forward.  Fours 
right.  Double  time.  March !" 

The  last  words  rang  out  clear  and  loud,  and 
startled  the  sullen  crowd  in  the  street.  There  was 
a  hurried,  irresolute  movement  among  them,  which 
increased  as  the  compact  little  corps  dashed  out  of 
the  shadow  into  the  clear  moonlight,  and  rushed 
with  the  rapid  but  measured  pace  of  veterans  across 
the  lawn.  A  few  missiles  were  thrown,  without 
effect.  One  or  two  shots  were  heard,  followed  by 
a  yell  in  the  street — which  showed  that  some  rioter 
in  his  excitement  had  wounded  one  of  his  own  com 
rades.  Farnham  and  his  little  band  took  only  a 
moment  to  reach  the  gate,  and  the  crowd  recoiled 
as  they  burst  through  into  the  street.  At  the  first 
onslaught  the  rioters  ran  in  both  directions,  leav 
ing  the  street  clear  immediately  in  front  of  the 
gates. 

The  instant  his  company  reached  the  middle  of 
the  avenue,  Arthur,  seeing  that  the  greater  number 
of  the  divided  mob  had  gone  to  the  left,  shouted : 

"  Fours  left.     March — guide  right." 

The  little  phalanx  wheeled  instantly  and  made 
rapid  play  with  their  clubs,*  but  only  for  a  moment. 
The  crowd  began  to  feel  the  mysterious  power  which 
discipline  backed  by  law  always  exerts,  and  they  ran 
at  full  speed  up  the  street  to  the  corner  and  there 
dispersed.  The  formation  of  the  veterans  was  not 
even  broken.  They  turned  at  Farnham's  order, 
faced  to  the  rear,  and  advanced  in  double  time  upon 
the  smaller  crowd  which  still  lingered  a  little  way 
beyond  the  gate. 

In  this  last  group  there  was  but  bne  man  who 


234  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

stood  his  ground  and  struck  out  for  himself.  It 
was  a  tall  young  fellow  with  fair  hair  and  beard, 
armed  with  a  carpenter's  hammer,  with  which  he 
maintained  so  formidable  an  attitude  that,  although 
two  or  three  policemen  were  opposed  to  him,  they 
were  wary  about  closing  in  upon  him.  Farnham, 
seeing  that  this  was  all  there  was  left  of  the  fight, 
ordered  the  men  to  fall  back,  and,  approaching  the 
recalcitrant,  said  sharply : 

"Drop  that  hammer,  and  surrender!  We  are 
officers  of  the  law,  and  if  you  resist  any  longer  you'll 
be  hurt." 

" I  don't  mind  that.  I  was  waiting  for  you"  the 
man  said,  and  made  a  quick  and  savage  rush  and 
blow  at  Farnham.  In  all  his  campaigns,  he  had  never 
before  had  so  much  use  for  his  careful  broadsword 
training  as  now.  With  his  policeman's  club  against 
the  workman's  hammer,  he  defended  himself  with 
such  address,  that  in  a  few  seconds,  before  his  men 
could  interfere,  his  adversary  was  disarmed  and 
stretched  on  the  sidewalk  by  a  blow  over  the  head. 
He  struggled  to  rise,  but  was  seized  by  two  men  and 
held  fast. 

"  Don't  hit  him,"  said  Farnham.  "  I  think  I  have 
seen  this  man  somewhere." 

"  Why,"  said  Kendall,  "  that's  Sam  Sleeny,  a  car- 
penter  in  Dean  Street.  He  orter  be  in  better  busi 
ness." 

"  Yes,  I  remember,"  said  Farnham ;  "  he  is  a  Re 
former.  Put  him  with  the  others." 

As  they  were  tying  his  hands,  Sam  turned  to 
Farnham  and  said,  in  a  manner  which  was  made 
dignified  by  its  slow,  energetic  malice,  "You've  beat 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  235 

me  to-night,  but  I  will  get  even  with  you  yet — as 
sure  as  there's  a  God." 

"  That's  reasonably  sure,"  said  Farnham ;  "  but 
in  the  meanwhile,  we'll  put  you  where  you  can  cool 
off  a  little." 

The  street  was  now  cleared ;  the  last  fugitives 
were  out  of  sight.  Farnham  returned  to  his  gar 
den,  and  then  divided  his  men  into  squads  for  pa 
trolling  the  neighborhood.  They  waited  for  half 
an  hour,  and,  finding  all  was  still  quiet,  then  made 
arrangements  for  passing  the  night.  Farnham  made 
Temple  go  into  the  house  with  him,  and  asked  Bud- 
sey  to  bring  some  sherry.  "  It  is  not  so  good  as 
your  Santa  Kita,"  he  said ;  "  but  the  exercise  in  the 
night  air  will  give  it  a  relish." 

When  the  wine  came,  the  men  filled  and  drank, 
in  sober  American  fashion,  without  words ;  but  in 
the  heart  of  each  there  was  the  thought  of  eternal 
friendship,  founded  upon  brave  and  loyal  ser 
vice.  ^ 

"  Budsey,"  said  Farnham,  "  give  all  the  men  a 
glass  of  this  wine." 

"  Not  this,  sir  ?"  said  Budsey,  aghast. 

"  I  said  this,"  replied  Farnham.  "  Perhaps  they 
won't  enjoy  it,  but  I  shall  enjoy  giving  it  to 
them." 

Farnham  and  Temple  were  eating  some  bread 
and  cheese  and  talking  over  the  evening,  when  Bud 
sey  came  back  with  something  which  approached  a 
smile  upon  his  grave  countenance. 

"  Did  they  like  it  ?"  asked  Farnham. 

"Half  of  'em  said  they  was  temperance  and 
wouldn't  'ave  any.  Some  of  the  rest  said — you 


236  THE  BREAD-WINNERS. 

will  excuse  me,  sir — as  it  was  d poor  cider," 

and  Budsey  went  out  of  the  room  with  a  suspicious 
convulsion  of  the  back. 

"Til  go  on  that,"  said  Mr.  Temple.  "Good 
night.  I  think  we  will  have  good  news  in  the 
morning.  There  will  be  an  attack  made  on  those 
men  at  Riverley  to-morrow  which  will  melt  them 
like  an  iceberg  in  Tartarus."  Mr.  Temple  was  not 
classical,  and,  of  course,  did  not  say  Tartarus. 

Farnham  was  left  alone.  The  reaction  from  the 
excitement  of  the  last  few  hours  was  settling  upon 
him.  The  glow  of  the  fight  and  his  success  in  it 
were  dying  away.  Midnight  was  near,  and  a  deep 
silence  was  falling  upon  the  city.  There  was  no 
sound  of  bells,  of  steam-whistles,  or  of  rushing 
trains.  The  breeze  could  be  heard  in  the  quiet, 
stirring  the  young,  soft  leaves.  Farnham  felt  sore, 
beaten,  discomfited.  He  smiled  a  little  bitterly  to 
himself  when  he  considered  that  the  cause  of  his 
feeling  of  discouragement  was  that  Alice  Belding 
had  spoken  to  him  with  coldness  and  shyness  when 
she  opened  her  door.  He  could  not  help  saying  to 
himself,  "  I  deserved  a  kinder  greeting  than  she 
gave  me.  She  evidently  wished  me  to  understand 
that  I  am  not  to  be  permitted  any  further  intimacy. 
I  have  forfeited  that  by  presuming  to  love  her. 
But  how  lovely  she  is !  When  she  took  her  mother 
in  her  arms,  I  thought  of  all  the  Greek  heroines  I 
ever  read  about.  Still,  '  if  she  be  not  fair  for  me ' — 
if  I  am  not  to  be  either  lover  or  friend — this  is  no 
place  for  me." 

The  clock  on  the  mantel  struck  midnight.  "  A 
strange  night,"  he  mused.  "There  is  one  sweet 


THE  BREAD-WINNERS.  237 

and  one  bitter  thing  about  it.  I  have  done  her  a 
service,  and  she  did  not  care." 

He  went  to  the  door  to  speak  to  Kendall.  "  I 
think  our  work  is  over  for  to-night.  Have  our 
prisoners  taken  down  to  the  Refrigerator  and 
turned  over  to  the  ordinary  police.  I  will  make 
charges  to-morrow.  Then  divide  the  men  into 
watches  and  make  yourself  as  comfortable  as  you 
can.  If  anything  happens,  call  me.  If  nothing 
happens,  good-night." 

He  returned  to  his  library,  turned  down  the  gas, 
threw  himself  on  the  sofa,  and  was  soon  asleep; 
even  before  Alice,  who  sat,  unhappy,  as  youth  is 
unhappy,  by  an  open  window,  her  eyes  full  of  tears, 
her  heart  full  of  remorse.  "  It  is  too  wretched  to 
think  of,"  she  bemoaned  herself.  "  He  is  the  only 
man  in  the  world  I  could  ever  care  for,  and  I  have 
driven  him  away.  It  never  can  be  made  right 
again;  I  am  punished  justly.  If  I  thought  he 
would  take  me,  I  believe  I  could  go  this  minute 
and  throw  myself  at  his  feet.  But  he  would  smile, 
and  raise  me  up,  and  make  some  pretty  speech, 
very  gentle,  and  very  dreadful,  and  bring  me  back 
to  mamma,  and  then  I  should  die." 

But  at  nineteen  well-nourished  maidens  do  not 
pass  the  night  in  mourning,  however  heavy  their 
hearts  may  be,  and  Alice  slept  at  last,  and  perhaps 
was  happier  in  her  innocent  dreams. 

The  night  passed  without  further  incident,  and 
the  next  day,  though  it  may  have  shown  favorable 
signs  to  practised  eyes,  seemed  very  much,  to  the 
public,  like  the  day  which  had  preceded  it.  There 
were  fewer  shops  closed  in  the  back  streets ;  there 


238  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

were  not  so  many  parties  of  wandering  apostles  of 
plunder  going  about  to  warn  laborers  away  from 
their  work.  But  in  the  principal  avenues  and  in 
the  public  squares  there  were  the  same  dense 
crowds  of  idlers,  some  listless  and  some  excited, 
ready  to  believe  the  wildest  rumors  and  to  ap 
plaud  the  craziest  oratory.  Speakers  were  not  lack 
ing  ;  besides  the  agitators  of  the  town,  several  had 
come  in  from  neighboring  places,  and  they  were 
preaching,  with  fervor  and  perspiration,  from  street 
corners  and  from  barrel-heads  in  the  beer-houses, 
the  dignity  of  manhood  and  the  overthrow  of  ty 
rants. 

Bott,  who  had  quite  distinguished  himself  during 
the  last  few  days,  was  not  to  be  seen.  He  had 
passed  the  night  in  the  station-house,  and,  on  brief 
examination  before  a  police- justice  at  an  early  hour 
of  the  morning,  on  complaint  of  Farnham  and  Tem 
ple,  had  been,  together  with  the  man  captured  in 
Mrs.  Belding's  drawing-room,  bound  over  to  stand 
his  trial  for  house-breaking  at  the  next  term  of 
court.  He  displayed  the  most  abject  terror  before 
his  trial,  and  would  have  made  a  full  confession  of 
the  whole  affair  had  Offitt  not  had  the  address  to  con 
vey  to  him  the  assurance  that,  if  he  stood  firm,  the 
Brotherhood  of  Bread-winners  would  attend  to  his 
case  and  be  responsible  for  his  safety.  Relying 
upon  this,  he  plucked  up  his  spirits  and  bore  him 
self  with  characteristic  impudence  in  the  presence 
of  the  police-justice,  insisting  upon  being  called  Pro 
fessor  Bott,  giving  his  profession  as  inspirational 
orator,  his  religion  the  divinity  of  humanity.  When 
bound  over  for  trial,  he  rose  and  gained  a  round  of 


THE   BKEAD-WINNEKS.  239 

applause  from  the  idlers  in  the  court-room  by  shout 
ing,  "  I  appeal  from  this  outrage  to  the  power  of 
the  people  and  the  judgment  of  history." 

This  was  his  last  recorded  oration ;  for  we  may 
as  well  say  at  once  that,  a  month  later,  he  stood  his 
trial  without  help  from  any  Brotherhood,  and  passed 
away  from  public  life,  though  not  entirely  from 
public  employment,  as  he  is  now  usefully  and  unob 
trusively  engaged  in  making  shoes  in  the  State  peni 
tentiary — and  is  said  "  to  take  serious  views  of  life." 

The  cases  of  Sleeny  and  the  men  who  were  taken 
in  the  street  by  Farnham's  policemen  were  also  dis 
posed  of  summarily  through  his  intervention.  He' 
could  not  help  liking  the  fair-bearded  carpenter, 
although  he  had  been  caught  in  such  bad  company, 
and  so  charged  him  merely  with  riotous  conduct  in 
the  public  streets,  for  which  the  penalty  was  alight 
fine  and  a  few  days'  detention.  Sleeny  seemed  con 
scious  of  his  clemency,  but  gave  him  no  look  or  ex 
pression  of  gratitude.  He  was  too  bitter  at  heart  to 
feel  gratitude,  and  too  awkward  to  feign  it. 

About  noon,  a  piece  of  news  arrived  which  pro 
duced  a  distinct  impression  of  discouragement  among 
the  strikers.  It  was  announced  in  the  public  square 
that  the  railway  blockade  was  broken  in  Clairfield, 
a  city  to  the  east  of  Buffland  about  a  hundred  miles. 
The  hands  had  accepted  the  terms  of  the  employers 
and  had  gone  to  work  again.  An  orator  tried  to 
break  the  force  of  this  announcement  by  depreciat 
ing  the  pluck  of  the  Clairfield  men.  '"  Why,  gen 
tlemen  !"  he  screamed,  "  a  ten-year-old  boy  in  this 
town  has  got  twice  the  sand  of  a  Clairfield  man. 
They  just  leg  the  bosses  to  kick  'em.  When  they 


240  THE   BREAD- WINNERS. 

are  fired  out  of  a  shop  door,  they  sneak  down  the 
chimbley  and  whine  to  be  took  on  again.  We  ain't 
made  of  that  kind  of  stuff." 

But  this  haughty  style  of  eloquence  did  not  avail 
to  inspirit  the  crowd,  especially  as  the  orator  was 
just  then  interrupted  to  allow  another  dispatch  to  be 
read,  which  said  that  the  citizens  of  a  town  to  the 
south  had  risen  in  mass  and  taken  the  station  there 
from  the  hands  of  the  strikers.  This  news  produced 
a  feeling  of  isolation  and  discouragement  which 
grew  to  positive  panic,  an  hour  later,  on  the  report 
that  a  brigade  of  regular  troops  was  on  its  w£y  to 
Buffland  to  restore  order.  The  report  was  of  course 
unfounded,  as  a  brigade  of  regular  troops  could  not 
be  got  together  in  this  country  in  much  less  time 
than  it  would  take  to  build  a  city ;  but  even  the 
name  of  the  phantom  army  had  its  effect,  and  the 
crowds  began  to  disperse  from  that  time.  The  final 
blow  was  struck,  however,  later  in  the  day. 

Farnham  learned  it  from  Mr.  Temple,  at  whose 
counting-room  he  had  called,  as  usual,  for  news.  Mr. 
Temple  greeted  him  with  a  volley  of  exulting  oaths. 

"  It's  all  up.  You  know  what  I  told  you  last 
night  about  the  attack  that  was  preparing  on  River- 
ley.  I  went  out  there  myself,  this  forenoon.  I 
knew  some  of  the  strikers,  and  I  thought  I  would 

see  if  the would  let  me  send  *my  horse 

Blue  Ruin  through  to  Rochester  to-morrow.  He  is 
entered  for  the  races  there,  you  know,  and  I  didn't 
want,  by ,  to  miss  my  engagements,  un 
derstand  ?  "Well,  as  I  drove  out  there,  after  I  got 
about  half  way,  it  began  to  occur  to  me  that  I  never 
saw  so  many  women  since  the  Lord  made  me.  The 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  241 

road  was  full  of  them  in  carts,  buggies,  horseback, 
and  afoot.  I  thought  a  committee  of  'em  was 
going ;  but  I  suppose  they  couldn't  trust  a  commit 
tee,  and  so  they  all  went.  There  were  so  many  of 
'em  I  couldn't  drive  fast,  and  so  I  got  there  about 
the  same  time  the  head  of  the  column  began  to  ar 
rive.  You  never  saw  anything  like  it  in  your  life. 
The  strikers  had  been  living  out  there  in  a  good  deal 
of  style — with  sentries  and  republican  government 
and  all  that.  By  the  great  hokey-pokey!  they 
couldn't  keep  it  up  a  minute  when  their  wives  came. 
They  knew  'em  too  well.  They  just  bulged  in  with 
out  rhyme  or  rule.  Every  woman  went  for  her  hus 
band  and  told  him  to  pack  up  and  go  home.  Some 
of  'em — the  artful  kind — begged  and  wheedled  and 
cried ;  said  they  were  so  tired — wanted  their  sweet 
hearts  again.  But  the  bigger  part  talked  hard  sense, 
— told  'em  their  lazy  picnic  had  lasted  long  enough, 
that  there  was  no  meat  in  the  house,  and  that  they 
had  got  to  come  home  and  go  to  work.  The  siege 
didn't  last  half  an  hour.  The  men  brazened  it 
out  awhile ;  some  were  rough  ;  told  their  wives  to 
dry  up,  and  one  big  fellow^slapped  his  wife  for  crying. 
By  jingo !  it  wasn't  half  a  flash  before  another  fellow 
slapped  him,  and  there  they  had  it,  rolling  over  and 
over  on  the  grass,  till  the  others  pulled  them  apart 
by  the  legs.  It  was  a  gone  case  from  the  start. 
They  held  a  meeting  off-hand ;  the  women  stayed 
by  to  watch  proceedings,  and,  not  to  make  a  long 
Btory  about  it,  when*  I  started  back  a  delegation  of 
the  strikers  came  with  me  to  see  the  president  of 
the  roads,  and  trains  will  run  through  to-night  as 
usual.  I  am  devilish  glad  of  it,  for  my  part.  There 
16 


242  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

is  nothing  in  Rochester  of  any  force  but  Rosin-the- 
Bow,  and  my  horse  can  show  him  the  way  around 
the  track  as  if  he  was  getting  a  dollar  an  hour  as  a 
guide." 

"  That  is  good  news  certainly.  Is  it  generally 
known  in  the  city?" 

"  I  think  not.  It  was  too  late  for  the  afternoon 
papers.  I  told  Jimmy  Nelson,  and  he  tore  down  to 
the  depot  to  save  what  is  left  of  his  fruit.  Pie  swore 
so  about  it  that  I  was  quite  shocked." 

"  What  about  the  mill  hands?"  asked  Farnham. 

"The  whole  thing  will  now  collapse  at  once. 
We  shall  receive  the  proposition  of  the  men  who 
left  us  to-morrow,  and  re-engage  on  our  own  terms, 
next  day,  as  many  as  we  want.  We  shan't  be  hard 
on  them.  But  one  or  two  gifted  orators  will  have 
to  take  the  road.  They  are  fit  for  nothing  but 
Congress,  and  they  can't  all  go  from  this  district. 
If  I  were  you,  Arthur,  by  the  way,  I  wouldn't  mus 
ter  out  that  army  of  yours  till  to-morrow.  But  I 
don't  think  there  will  be  any  more  calls  in  your 
neighborhood.  You  are  too  inhospitable  to  visi 
tors." 

The  sun  was  almost  setting  as  Farnham  walked 
through  the  public  square  on  his  way  home.  He 
could  hardly  believe  so  sudden  a  change  could  have 
fallen  upon  the  busy  scene  of  a  few  hours  before. 
The  square  was  almost  deserted.  Its  holiday  ap 
pearance  was  gone.  A  few  men  occupied  the 
benches.  One  or  two  groups  stood  beneath  the 
trees  and  conversed  in  under-tones.  The  orators 
had  sought  their  hiding-places,  unnecessarily — too 
fearful  of  the  vengeance  which  never,  in  this  happjf 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  243 

country,  attends  the  exercise  of  unbridled  "slack 
jaw."  As  Arthur  walked  over  the  asphalt  pave-' 
ment  there  was  nothing  to  remind  him  of  the  great 
crowds  of  the  last  few  days  but  the  shells  of  the 
pea-nuts  crunching  under  his  feet.  It  seems  as  if, 
the  American  workman  can  never  properly  invoke 
the  spirit  of  liberty  without  a  pocketful  of  this 
democratic  nut. 

As  he  drew  near  his  house,  Farnham  caught  a 
glimpse  of  light  drapery  upon  Mrs.  Belding's  piazza, 
and  went  over  to  relieve  her  from  anxiety  by  telling 
her  the  news  of  the  day.  When  he  had  got  half 
way  across  the  lawn,  he  saw  Alice  rise  from  beside 
her  mother  as  if  to  go.  Mrs.  Belding  signed  for 
her  to  resume  her  seat.  Farnham  felt  a  slight  sen 
sation  of  anger.  "It  is  unworthy  of^  her,"  he 
thought,  "  to  avoid  me  in  that  manner,  f.  must  let 
her  see  she  is  in  no  danger  from  me." 

He  gave  his  hand  cordially  to  Mrs.  Belding  and 
bowed  to  Alice  without  a  word.  He  then  briefly 
recounted  the  news  to  the  elder  lady,  and  assured 
her  that  there  was  no  probability  of  any  farther  dis 
turbance  of  the  peace. 

"But  we  shall  have  our  policemen  here  all  the 
same  to-night,  so  that  you  may  sleep  with  a  double 
sense  of  security." 

"  I  am  sure  you  are  very  good,"  she  said.  "  I 
don't  know  what  we  should  have  done  without  you 
last  night,  and  Mr.  Temple.  When  it  comes  to 
ear-rings,  there's  no  telling  what  they  wouldn't  have 
done." 

"  Two  of  your  guests  are  in  jail,  with  good  pros 
pects  of  their  remaining  there.  The  others,  I  learn, 


244  THE  BREAD-WINNERS. 

were  thieves  from  out  of  town  ;  I  doubt  if  we  shall 
capture  them." 

"For  goodness'  sake,  let  them  run.  I  never 
want  to  see  them  again.  That  ugly  creature  who 
went  up  with  Alice  for  the  money — you  caught 
him  ?  I  am  so  glad.  The  impudence  of  the  crea 
ture  !  going  upstairs  with  my  daughter,  as  if  she 
was  not  to  be  trusted.  Well,"  she  added  candidly, 
"  she  wasn't  that  time,  but  it  was  none  of  his  busi 
ness." 

Here  Alice  and  Farnham  both  laughed  out,  and 
the  sound  of  the  other's  voice  was  very  pleasant  to 
each  of  them,  though  they  did  not  look  toward  each 
other. 

"  I  am  beginning  to  think  that  the  world  is  grow 
ing  too  wicked  for  single  women,"  Mrs.  Belding 
continued,  philosophically.  "  Men  can  take  care  of 
themselves  in  so  many  ways.  They  can  use  a  club 
as  you  do " 

"  Daily  and  habitually,"  assented  Arthur. 

"  Or  they  can  make  a  speech  about  Ireland  and 
the  old  flag,  as  Mr.  Belding  used  to;  or  they  can 
swear  like  Mr.  Temple.  By  the  way,  Alice,  you 
were  not  here  when  Mr.  Temple  swore  so  at  those 
thieves.  I  was  scandalized,  but  I  had  to  admit  it 
was  very  appropriate." 

"  I  was  also  away  from  the  room,"  said  Farnham ; 
"  but  I  can  readily  believe  the  comminatory  clauses 
must  have  been  very  cogent." 

"  Oh,  yes !  and  such  a  nice  woman  she  is." 

"  Yes,  Mrs.  Temple  is  charming,"  said  Farnham, 
rising. 

"  Arthur,  do  not  go !    Stay  to  dinner.    It  will  be 


THE  BREAD-WINNERS.  245 

ready  in  one  moment.  It  will  strengthen  our  nerves 
to  have  a  man  dine  with  us,  especially  a  liberating 
hero  like  you.  Why,  you  seemed  to  me  last  night 
like  Perseus  in  the  picture,  coming  to  rescue  What's- 
her-name  from  the  rock." 

Farnham  glanced  at  Alice.  Her  eyes  were  fixed 
upon  the  ground  ;  her  fingers  were  tightly  clasped. 
She  was  wishing  with  all  her  energy  that  he  would 
stay,  waiting  to  catch  his  first  word  of  assent,  but 
unable  to  utter  a  syllable. 

"Alice,"  said  Mrs.  Belding  rather  sharply,  "I 
think  Arthur  does  not  regard  my  invitation  as  quite 
sufficient.  Will  you  give  it  your  approval  ?" 

Alice  raised  her  face  at  these  words  and  looked 
up  at  Farnham.  It  was  a  beautiful  face  at  all  times, 
and  now  it  was  rosy  with  confusion,  and  the  eyes 
were  timid  but  kind.  She  said  with  lips  that 
trembled  a  little :  "  I  should  be  very  glad  to  have 
Captain  Farnham  stay  to  dinner." 

She  had  waited  too  long,  and  the  words  were  a 
little  too  formal,  and  Arthur  excused  himself  on  the 
plea  of  having  to  look  out  for  his  cohort,  and  went 
home  to  a  lonely  dinner. 


246  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 


XYI. 
OFFITT  DIGS  A  PIT. 

A  WEEK  had  passed  by ;  the  great  strike  was 
already  almost  forgotten.  A  few  poor  workmen 
had  lost  their  places.  A  few  agitators  had  been  dis 
missed  for  excellent  reasons,  having  no  relation  with 
the  strike.  The  mayor  had  recovered  from  hi& 
panic,  and  was  beginning  to  work  for  a  renomina- 
tion,  on  the  strength  of  his  masterly  dealing  with 
the  labor  difficulties,  in  which,  as  he  handsomely 
said  in  a  circular  composed  by  himself  and  signed 
by  his  friends,  he  "nobly  accomplished  the  duty 
allotted  him  of  preserving  the  rights  of  property 
while  respecting  the  rights  of  the  people,  of  keep 
ing  the  peace  according  to  his  oath,  and  keeping 
faith  with  the  masses,  to  which  he  belonged,  in 
their  struggle  against  monopoly." 

The  rich  and  prosperous  people,  as  their  manner 
is,  congratulated  themselves  on  their  escape,  and 
gave  no  thought  to  the  questions  which  had  come 
so  near  to  an  issue  of  fire  and  blood.  In  this  city  of 
two  hundred  thousand  people,  two  or  three  dozen 
politicians  continued  as  before  to  govern  it,  to  assess 
and  to  spend  its  taxes,  to  use  it  as  their  property 
and  their  chattel.  The  rich  and  intelligent  kept  on 
making  money,  buildingTine  houses,  and  bringing 
up  children  to  hate  politics  as  they  did,  and  in  fine 
to  fatten  themselves  as  sheep  which  should  be  mut- 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  247 

ton  whenever  the  butcher  was  ready.  There  was 
hardly  a  millionaire  on  Algonquin  Avenue  who 
knew  where  the  ward  meetings  of  his  party  were 
held.  There  was  not  an  Irish  laborer  in  the  city 
but  knew  his  way  to  his  ward  club  as  well  as  to 
mass. 

Among  those  who  had  taken  part  in  the  late  ex 
citing  events  and  had  now  reverted  to  private  li 
was  Sam  Sleeny.     His  short  sentence  had  expired  ; 
he  had  paid  his  fine  and  come  back  to  Matchin's. 
But  he  was  not  the  quiet,  contented  workman  he 
had  been.     He  was  sour,  sullen,  and  discontented. 
He  nourished  a  dull  grudge  against  the  world.     He!      / 
had  tried  to  renew  friendly  relations  with  Maud,  but      \ 
she  had  repulsed  him  with  positive   scorn.     Her 
mind  was  full  of  her  new  prospects,  and  she  did  not 
care  to  waste  time  with  him.     The  scene  in  the 
rose-house  rankled  in  his  heart;  he  could  not  but 
think  that  her  mind  had  been  poisoned  by  Farnham, 
and  his  hate  gained  intensity  every  hourQ 

In  this  frame  of  mind  he  fell  easily  into  the  con-^ 
trol  of  Offitt.  That  worthy  had  not  come  under  the 
notice  of  the  law  for  the  part  he  took  in  the  attack 
on  the  Belding  house ;  he  had  not  been  recognized 
by  Farnham's  men,  nor  denounced  by  his  associates ; 
and  so,  after  a  day  or  two  of  prudential  hiding,  he 
came  to  the  surface  again.  He  met  Sam  at  the  very 
door  of  the  House  of  Correction,  sympathized  with 
him,  flattered  him,  gained  his  full  confidence  at  last, 
and  held  him  ready  for  some  purpose  which  was 
vague  even  in  his  own  brain.  He  was  determined 
to  gain  possession  of  Maud,  and  he  felt  it  must  be 
through  some  crime,  the  manner  of  which  was  not 


248  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

quite  clear  to  him.  If  he  could  use  Sam  to  accom 
plish  his  purpose  and  save  his  own  skin,  that  would 
be  best.  His  mind  ran  constantly  upon  theft,  forg 
ery,  burglary,  and  murder ;  but  he  could  frame  no 
scheme  which  did  not  involve  risks  that  turned  him 
sick.  If  he  could  hit  upon  something  where  he 
might  furnish  the  brains,  and  Sam  the  physical 
force  and  the  risk !  He  dwelt  upon  this  day  and 
night.  He  urged  Sam  to  talk  of  his  own  troubles ; 
of  the  Matchins ;  at  last,  of  Maud  and  his  love,  and 
it  was  not  long  before  the  tortured  fellow  had  told 
»him  what  he  saw  in  the  rose-house.  Strangely 
jenough,  the  thought  of  his  fiancee  leaning  on  the 
[shoulder  of  another  man  did  not  in  the  least  dimin- 
;ish  the  ardor  of  Offitt.  His  passion  was  entirely 
free  from  respect  or  good-will.  He  used  the  story 
to  whet  the  edge  of  Sam's  hatred  against  Farnham. 

"Why,  Sam,  my  boy,"  he  would  say,  "your 
honor  is  at  stake." 

"  I  would  as  soon  kill  him  as  eat,"  Sam  answered. 
"  But  what  good  would  that  do  me  ?  She  cares  no 
more  for  me  than  she  does  for  you." 

Offitt  was  sitting  alone  in  his  room  one  afternoon ; 
his  eyes  were  staring  blankly  at  the  opposite  wall ; 
his  clinched  hands  were  cold  as  ice.  He  had  been 
sitting  in  that  way  motionless  for  an  hour,  a  prey 
to  a  terrible  excitement. 

It  had  come  about  in  this  way.  He  had  met  in 
one  of  the  shops  he  frequented  a  machinist  who 
rented  one  of  Farnham's  houses.  Offitt  had  asked 
him  at  noon-time  to  come  out  and  drink  a  glass  of 
beer  with  him.  The  man  complied,  and  was  espe 
cially  careful  to  bring  his  waistcoat  with  him, 


THE   BREAD-WIKNERS.  249 

saying  with  a  laugh,  "  I  lose  my  shelter  if  I  lose 
that." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  asked  Offitt. 

"  I've  got  a  quarter's  rent  in  there  for  Cap.  Farn- 
ham." 

"  Why  are  you  carrying  it  around  all  day  ?" 

"  Well,  you  know,  Farnham  is  a  good  sort  of  fel 
low,  and  to  keep  us  from  losing  time  ho  lets  us 
come  to  his  house  in  the  evening,  after  working 
hours,  on  quarter-day,  instead  of  going  to  his  office 
in  the  day-time.  You  see,  I  trot  up  there  after 
supper  and  get  rid  of  this  wad." 

Offitt's  eyes  twinkled  like  those  of  an  adder. 

"  How  many  of  you  do  this  ?" 

"  Oh,  a  good  many, — most  everybody  in  our  ward 
and  some  in  the  Nineteenth." 

"A  good  bit  of  money?"  said  Offitt  carelessly, 
though  his  mouth  worked  nervously. 

"  You  bet  your  boots  !  If  I  had  all  the  cash  he 
takes  in  to-night,  I'd  buy  an  island  and  shoot  the 
machine  business.  Well,  I  must  be  gefotin'  back. 
So  long." 

Offitt  had  walked  directly  home  after  this  conver 
sation,  looking  neither  to  the  right  nor  the  left,  like 
a  man  asleep.  He  had  gone  to  his  room,  locked  his 
door  behind  him,  and  sat  down  upon  the  edge  of 
his  bed  and  given  himself  up  to  an  eager  dream  of 
crime.  His  heart  beat,  now  fast,  now  slow ;  a  cold 
sweat  enveloped  him ;  he  felt  from  time  to  time 
half  suffocated. 

Suddenly  he  heard  a  loud  knocking  at  his  door — 
not  as  if  made  by  the  hand,  but  as  if  some  one  were 
hammering.  He  started  and  gasped  with  a  choking 


250  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

rattle  in  his  throat.  His  eyes  seemed  straining  from 
their  sockets.  He  opened  his  lips,  but  no  sound 
came  forth. 

The  sharp  rapping  was  repeated,  once  and  again. 
He  made  no  answer.  Then  a  loud  voice  said : 

"  Hello,  Andy,  you  asleep  ?" 

He  threw  himself  back  on  his  pillow  and  said 
:•  •  wningly,  "  Yes.  That  you,  Sam  ?  Why  don't  you 
come  in  ?2> 

"  'Cause  the  door's  locked." 

He  rose  and  let  Sleeny  in ;  then  threw  himself 
back  on  the  bed,  stretching  and  gaping. 

"  What  did  you  mako  that  infernal  racket  with  ?" 

"My  new  hammer,"  said  Sam.  "I  just  bought 
it  to-day.  Lost  my  old  one  the  night  we  give  Farn- 
ham  the  shiveree." 

"  Lemme  see  it."  Offitt  took  it  in  his  hand  and 
balanced  and  tested  it.  "Pretty  gooil  hammer. 
Handle's  a  leetle  thick,  but — pretty  good  hammer." 

"  Ought  to  be,"  r;aid  Sam.     "  Paid  enough  for  it." 

"  Where  d'you  get  it  ?" 

"  Ware  &  Harden's." 

"Sam,"  said  Offitt, — he  was  still  holding  the 
hammer  and  giving  himself  light  taps  on  the  head 
with  it,—"  Sam." 

"  Well,  you  said  that  before." 

Offitt  opened  his  mouth  twice  to  speak  and  shut 
it  again. 

"  What  are  you  doin'  ?"  asked  Sleeny.'  "  Trying 
to  catch  flies  ?" 

"  Sam,"  said  Offitt  at  last,  slowly  jmd  with  effort, 
"  if  I  was  you,  the  first  tiling  I  did  with  that  ham 
mer,  I'd  crack  Art  Farnham's  cocoa-nut." 


THE  BREAD-WINNERS.  251 

"  Well,  Andy,  go  and  crack  it  yourself  if  you  are 
BO  keen  to  have  it  done.  You're  mixing  yourself 
rather  too  much  in  my  affairs,  anyhow,"  said  Sam, 
who  was  nettled  by  these  too  frequent  suggestions 
of  Offitt  that  his  honor  required  repair. 

"  Sam  Sleeny,"  said  Offitt,  in  an  impressive  voice, 
"  I'm  one  of  the  kind  that  stands  by  my  friends. 
If  you  mean  what  you  have  been  saying  to  me,  I'll 
go  up  with  you  this  very  night,  and  we  will  together 
take  it  out  of  that  aristocrat.  Now,  that's  busi 
ness." 

Sleeny  looked  at  his  friend  in  surprise  and  with 
some  distrust.  The  offer  was  so  generous  and  reck 
less,  that  he  could  not  help  asking  himself  what  was 
its  motive.  He  looked  so  long  and  so  stupidly  at 
Offitt,  that  the  latter  at  last  divined  his  feeling.  "He 
thought  that,  without  telling  Sleeny  the  whole 
scheme,  he  would  test  him  one  step  farther. 

"I  don't  doubt,"  he  said  carelessly,  "but  what 
we  could  pay  ourselves  well  for  the  job, — spoil  the 
'Gyptians,  you  know, — forage  on  the  enemy.  Plenty 
of  portables  in  them  houses,  eh !" 

"  I  never  said  " — Sam  spoke  slowly  and  deliber 
ately — "  I  wanted  to  'sassinate  him,  or  rob  him,  or 
burgle  him.  If  I  could  catch  him  and  lick  him,  in 
a  fair  fight,  I'd  do  it ;  and  I  wouldn't  care  how  haYd 
I  hit  him,  or  what  with." 

" All  right,"  said  Offitt,  curtly.  "You  met  him 
once  in  a  fair  fight,  and  he  licked  you.  And  you 
tried  him  another  way, — courtin'  the  same  girl, — • 
and  he  beat  you  there.  But  it's  all  right.  I've  got 
nothin'  against  him,  if  you  hain't.  Lemme  mark 
your  name  on  this  hammer,"  and,  turning  the  don 


252  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

versation  so  quickly  that  Sleeny  had  no  opportunity 
to  resent  the  last  taunt,  he  took  his  knife  and  began 
dexterously  and  swiftly  to  cut  Sam's  initials  in  the 
handle  of  his  hammer.  Before,  however,  he  had 
half  completed  his  self-imposed  task,  he  exclaimed, 
"This  is  dry  work.  Let's  go  out  and  get  some 
beer.  I'll  finish  your  hammer  and  bring  it  around 
after  supper." 

"  There's  one  S  on  it,"  said  Sam ; "  that's  enough." 

"  One  S  enough !  It  might  mean  Smith;  or 
Schneider,  or  Sullivan.  No,  sir.  I'll  put  two  on 
m  the  highest  style  of  art,  and  then  everybody  will 
know  and  respect  Sam  Sleeny's  tool." 

They  passed  out  of  the  room  together,  ^nd  drank 
their  beer  at  a  neighboring  garden.  They  were  both 
rather  silent  and  preoccupied.  As  they  parted,  Of- 
fitt  said,  "  I've  got  a  scheme  on  hand  for  raising  the 
wind,  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about.  Be  at  my  room 
to-night  between  nine  and  ten,  and  wait  till  I  come, 
if  I  am  out.  Don't  fail."  Sam  stared  a  little,  but 
promised,  asking  no  questions. 

When  Offitt  came  back,  he  locked  the  door  again 
behind  him.  He  bustled  about  the  room  as  if  pre 
paring  to  move.  He  had  little  to  pack ;  a  few  shabby 
clothes  were  thrown  into  a  small  trunk,  a  pile  of  let 
ters  and  papers  were  hastily  torn  up  and  pitched 
into  the  untidy  grate.  All  this  while  he  muttered 
to  himself  as  if  to  keep  himself  in  company.  He 
said  :  "  I  had  to  take  the  other  shoot — he  hadn't  the 
sand  to  help-— I  couldn't  tell  him  any  more.  ...  I 
wonder  if  she  will  go  with  me  when  I  come  to; 
night — ready  ?  I  shall  feel  I  deserve  her  anyhow. 
She  don't  treat  me  as  she  did  him,  according  to 


THE  BREAD-WINNERS.  253 

Sam's  story.     She  makes  me  keep  my  distance.  She 
hasn't  even  shook  hands  with  me  since  we  was  en 
gaged.     I'll  pay  her  for  that  after  awhile."     He 
walked  up  and  down  his  room  breathing  quick  and 
hard.     "  I  shall  risk  my  neck,  I  know;  but  it  won't 
be  the  first  time,  and  I  never  will  have  such  a  rea 
son  again.     She  beats  anything  I  ever  saw.     I've  \ 
got  to  have  the  money — to  suit  such  a  woman,  i 
.  .  .     I'm  almost    sorry    for  Sam — but  the   Lord 
made  some  men  to  be  other  men's  fools.  .  .  ." 

This  was  the  staple  of  his  musings  ;  other  things 
less  edifying  still  may  be  omitted. 

While  he  was  engaged  in  this  manner  he  heard  a 
timid  knock  at  his  door.  "  Another  visitor  ?  Pm 
getting  popular,"  he  said,  and  went  to  open  the  door. 

A  seedy,  forlorn-looking  man  came  in  ;  he  took 
off  his  shabby  hat  and  held  it  under  his  arm. 

He  said,  "  Good-evenin',"  in  a  tone  a  little  above 
a  whisper. 

"  Well,  what's  the  matter  ?"  asked  Offitt          , 

"  Have  you  heered  about  Brother  Bowersox  ?"  » 

"  Never  mind  the  brothering — that's  played  oi\t. 
What  is  there  about  Bowersox  ?" 

"He's  dangerous;  they  don't  think  he'll  live 
through  the  night." 

"Well,  what  of  it?" 

This  was  not  encouraging,  but  the  poor  Bread-' 
winner  ventured  to  say,  "I  thought  some  of  the* 
Brothers " 

But  Offitt  closed  the  subject  by  a  brutal  laugh., 
"  The  Brothers  are  looking  out  for  themselves  these 
times.  The  less  said  about  the  Brotherhood  the 
better.  It's  up  the  spout,  do  you  hear  j" 


254  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

The  poor  fellow  shrunk  away  into  his  ragged 
clothes,  and  went  out  with  a  submissive  "  Good- 
evenin'." 

"  I'll  never  found  another  Brotherhood,"  Offitt 
j  said  to  himself.  "  It's  more  trouble  than  it  brings  in." 

It  was  now  growing  dark.  He  took  his  hat  and 
went  down  the  stairs  and  out  into  the  street.  He 
entered  a  restaurant  and  ordered  a  beefsteak,  which 
he  ate,  paid  for,  and  departed  after  a  short  chat  with 
the  waiter,  whom  he  knew.  He  went  around  the 
corner,  entered  another  eating-house,  called  for  a 
cup  of  coffee  and  a  roll.  There  also  he  was  careful 
to  speak  with  the  man  who  served  him,  slapping 
him  on  the  shoulder  with  familiarity.  He  went 
into  a  drug  store  a  little  later  and  bought  a  glass  of 
soda-water,  dropping  the  glass  on  the  marble  floor, 
and  paying  for  it  after  some  controversy.  lie  then 
walked  up  to  Dean  Street.  He  found  the  family  all 
together  in  the  sitting-room.  He  chatted  awhile 
with  them,  and  asked  for  Sleeny. 

"  I  don't  really  know  where  Sam  is.  He  ain't  so 
reg'lar  in  his  hours  as  he  used  to  be,"  said  Saul.  "  I 
hope  he  ain't  gettin'  wild." 

"I  hope  not,"  said  Offitt,  in  a  tone  of  real  dis 
tress — then,  after  a  pause,  "  You  needn't  mention 
my  havin'  asked  for  him.  He  may  be  sensitive 
about  it." 

As  he  came  away,  Maud  followed  him  io  the  door. 
He  whispered,  "  Be  ready,  my  beauty,  to  start  at  a 
moment's  notice.  The  money  is  on  the  way.  You 
shall  live  like  a  queen  before  many  days  are  gone." 

"  We  shall  see,"  she  answered,  with  a  smile,  but 
shutting  the  door  between  them. 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  255 

He  clinched  his  fists  and  muttered,  "  I'll  figure  it 
all  up  and  take  my  pay,  Missy.  She's  worth  it.  I 
will  have  to  do  some  crooked  things  to  get  her ;  but 

by ,  I'd  kill  a  dozen  men  and  hang  another,, 

just  to  stand  by  and  see  her  braid  her  hair." 

Returning  to  his  house,  he  ran  nimbly  up  the 
stairs,  half  fearing  to  find  Sleeny  there,  but  he  had 
not  yet  arrived.  He  seized  the  hammer,  put  it  in 
his  pocket,  and  carne  down  again.  Still  intent  upon 
accounting  for  as  much  of  the  evening  as  possible, 
he  thought  of  a  variety-show  in  the  neighborhood, 
and  went  there.  He  spoke  to  some  of  the  loafers 
at  the  door.  He  then  walked  to  the  box-office  and 
asked  for  a  ticket,  addressing  the  man  who  sold  it 
to  him  as  "  Jimmy,"  and  asking  how  business  was. 
The  man  handed  him  his  ticket  without  any  reply, 
but  turned  to  a  friend  beside  him,  and  said,  "  Who 
is  that  cheeky  brother  that  knows  me  so  well  ?" 

"  Oh !  that's  a  rounder  by  the  name  of  Offitt. 
He  is  a  sort  of  Reformer — makes  speeches  to  the 
puddlers  on  the  rights  of  man."  ^-* 

"  Seems  rather  fresh,"  said  Jimmy. 

"  A  little  brine  wouldn't  hurt  him." 

Offitt  strolled  into  the  theatre,  which  was  well 
filled.  The  curtain  was  down  at  the  moment,  and 
he  walked  the  full  extent  of  the  centre  aisle  to  the 
orchestra',  looking  about  him  as  if  in  search  of  some 
one.  He  saw  one  or  two  acquaintances  and  nodded 
to  them.  He  then  walked  back  and  took  a  seat 
near  the  door.  The  curtain  rose,  and  the  star  of 
the  evening  bounded  upon  the  stage, — a  strapping 
young  woman  in  the  dress  of  an  army  officer.  She 
was  greeted  with  applause  before  she  began  her 


256  THE  BREAD-WINNERS. 

song,  and  with  her  first  notes  Offitt  quietly  went 
out.  He  looked  at  the  clock  on  the  City  Hall,  and 
saw  that  he  had  no  more  time  to  kill.  He  walked, 
without  hurrying  or  loitering,  up  the  shady  side  of 
the  street  till  he  came  to  tho  quarter  where  Farnham 
lived.  He  then  crossed  into  the  wide  avenue,  and, 
looking  swiftly  about  him,  approached  the  open 
gates  of  Farnham's  place.  Two  or  three  men  were 
coming  out,  one  or  two  were  going  in.  He  waited 
till  the  former  had  turned  down  the  street,  and  the 
latter  were  on  the  door-step.  He  then  walked 
briskly  up  the  path  to  tho  house ;  but  instead  of 
mounting  the  steps,  he  turned  to  the  left  and  lay 
down  under  the  library  windows  behind  a  clump  of 
lilacs. 

"  If  they  catch  me  here,"  he  thought,  "  they  can 
only  take  me  for  a  tramp  and  give  me  the  grand 
bounce." 

The  windows  opened  upon  a  stone  platform  a  few 
feet  from  the  ground.  He  could  hear  the  sound  of 
voices  within.  At  last  he  heard  the  men  rise,  push 
back  their  chairs,  and  say  "  Good-night."  He  heard 
their  heavy  shoes  on  the  front  steps.  "  Now  for  it," 
he  whispered.  But  at  that  moment  a  belated  tenant 
came  in.  He  wanted  to  talk  of  some  repairs  to  his 
house.  Offitt  lay  down  again,  resting  his  head  on 
his  arm.  The  soft  turf,  the  stillness,  the  warmth  of 
the  summer  night  lulled  him  into  drowsiness.  In 
spite  of  the  reason  he  had  for  keeping  awake,  his 
eyes  were  closing  and  his  senses  were  fading,  when 
a  shrill  whistle  startled  him  into  broad  wakefulness. 
It  was  the  melancholy  note  of  a  whippoorwill  in 
the  branches  of  a  lime-tree  in  the  garden.  Offitt 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  267 

listened  for  the  sound  of  voices  in  the  library.     He 

heard  nothing.     "  Can  I  have  slept  through no, 

there  is  a  light."  A  shadow  fell  across  the  window. 
The  heavy  tread  of  Budsey  approached.  Farnham's 
voice  was  heard:  "Never  mind  the  windows,  Bud 
sey.  I  will  close  them  and  the  front  door.  I  will 
wait  here  awhile ;  somebody  else  may  come.  You 
can  go  to  bed." 

"  Good-night,  sir." 

"  Good-night." 

Offitt  waited  only  a  moment.  He  rose  and  looked 
cautiously  in  at  the  window.  Farnham  was  seated 
at  his  desk.  He  had  sorted,  in  the  methodical  way 
peculiar  to  men  who  have  held  command  in  tke 
army,  the  papers  which  he  had  been  using  with  his 
tenants  and  the  money  he  had  received  from  them. 

They  were  arranged  on  the  desk  before  him  in 
neat  bundles,  ready  to  be  transferred  to  the  safe, 
across  the  room.  He  had  taken  up  his  pen  to  make 
some  final  indorsement. 

Offitt  drew  off  his  shoes,  leaped  upon  the  plat 
form,  and  entered  the  library  as  swiftly  and  noise 
lessly  as  a  panther  walking  over  sand. 
17 


258  THE  BREAD-WINNERS. 


XVII. 

IN  AND  OUT    OF  WINDOWS. 

ALICE  BELDING  was  seated  before  her  glass  braid 
ing  her  long  hair.  Her  mother  had  come  in  from 
her  own  room,  as  her  custom  often  was,  to  chat  with 
her  daughter  in  the  half  hour  before  bed-time.  It 
gratified  at  once  her  maternal  love  and  her  pride  to 
watch  the  exquisite  beauty  of  her  child,  as  she  sat, 
dressed  in  a  white  wrapper  that  made  her  seem  still 
taller  than  she  was,  brushing  and  braiding  the  lux 
uriant  tresses  that  gave  under  the  light  every  tint 
and  reflection  of  which  gold  is  capable.  The  pink 
and  pearl  of  the  round  arm  as  the  loose  sleeve  would 
slip  to  the  elbow,  the  poise  of  the  proud  head,  the 
full  white  column  of  the  neck,  the  soft  curve  of 
cheek  and  chin, — all  this  delighted  her  as  it  would 
have  delighted  a  lover.  But  with  all  her  light- 
headedness,  there  was  enough  of  discretion,  or( per 
haps  of  innate  New  England  reserve,  to  keep  her 
from  ever  expressing  to  Alice  her  pleasure  in  her 
beauty.  So  the  wholesome-minded  girl  never  im 
agined  the  admiration  of  which  she  was  the  object, 
and  thought  that  her  mother  only  liked  to  chat  a 
little  before  sleeping.  They  talked  of  trivial  mat 
ters,  of  the  tea  at  Mrs.  Hyson's,  of  Formosa  Hy 
son's  purple  dress  which  made  her  sallower  than 
ever,  of  rain  and  fair  weather. 

"  I  think,"  said  Mrs.  Belding,  "  that  Phrasy  Dal- 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  259 

las  gets  more  and  more  stylish  every  day.  I  don't 
wonder  at  Arthur  Farnham's  devotion.  That  would 
make  an  excellent  match — they  are  both  so  dread 
fully  clever.  By  the  way,  he  has  not  been  here 
this  week.  And  I  declare !  I  don't  believe  you 
have  ever  written  him  that  note  of  thanks." 

"  No,"  said  Alice,  smiling — she  had  schooled  her 
self  by  this  time  to  speak  of  him  carelessly.  "  I 
was  too  much  frightened  to  thank  him  on  the  spot, 
and  now  it  would  be  ancient  history.  We  must 
save  our  thanks  till  we  see  him." 

"  I  want  to  see  him  about  other  things.  You 
must  write  and  ask  him  to  dinner  to-morrow  or  next 
day." 

"  Don't  you  think  he  would  like  it  better  if  you 
would  write  ?" 

"  There  you  are  again — as  if  it  mattered.  Write 
that  '  Mamma  bids  me.'  There,  your  hair  is  braid 
ed.  Write  the  note  now,  and  I  will  send  it  over  in 
the  morning  before  he  gets  away." 

Alice  rose  and  walked  to  her  escritoire,  her  long 
robe  trailing,  her  thick  braids  hanging  almost  to  the 
floor,  her  fair  cheek  touched  with  a  delicate  spot^  of 
color  at  the  thought  of  writing  a  formal  note  to  the 
man  she  worshipped.  She  took  a  pen  and  wrote 
"  My  dear  Mr.  Farnham,"  and  the  conventional  ad 
dress  made  her  heart  flutter  and  her  eyes  grow  dim. 
While  she  was  writing,  she  heard  her  mother  say : 

«  What  a  joke  !"  J 

She  looked  up,  and  saw  that  Mrs.  Belding,  having 
pushed  open  the  shutters,  had  picked  up  her  opera- 
glass  and  was  looking  through  it  at  something  out 
of  the  window. 


260  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

"  Do  you  know,  Alice,"  she  said,  laughing,  "  since 
that  ailantus  tree  was  cut  down,  you  can  see  straight 
into  his  library  from  here.  There  he  is  now,  sitting 
at  his  desk." 

"  Mamma !"  pleaded  Alice,  rising  and  trying  to 
take  the  glass  away  from  her.  "  Don't  do  that,  I 
beg!" 

"  Nonsense,"  said  her  mother,  keeping  her  away 
with  one  hand  and  holding  the  glass  with  the  other. 
"  There  comes  Budsey  to  close  the  blinds.  The 
show  is  over.  No;  he  goes  away,  leaving  them 
open." 

"  Mamma,  I  will  leave  the  room  if 

"  My  goodness !  look  at  that !"  cried  the  widow, 
putting  the  glass  in  her  daughter's  hand  and  sinking 
into  a  chair  with  fright. 

Alice,  filled  with  a  nameless  dread,  saw  her  mother 
was  pale  and  trembling,  and  took  the  glass.  She 
dropped  it  in  an  instant,  and  leaning  from  the  win 
dow  sent  forth  once  more  that  cry  of  love  and  alarm, 
which  rang  through  the  stillness  of  night  with  all 
the  power  of  her  young  throat : 

"Arthur!" 

She  turned,  and  sped  down  the  stairs,  and  across 
the  lawn  like  an  arrow  shot  for  life  or  death  from  a 
long-bow. 

Farnham  heard  the  sweet,  strong  voice  ringing 
out  of  the  stillness  like  the  cry  of  an  angel  in  a  vis 
ion,  and  raised  his  head  with  a  startled  movement 
from  the  desk  where  he  was  writing.  Offitt  heard 
it,  too,  as  he  raised  his  hand  to  strike  a  deadly  blow ; 
and  though  it  did  not  withhold  him  from  his  mur 
derous  purpose,  it  disturbed  somewhat  the  precision 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  261 

of  his  hand.  The  hammer  descended  a  little  to  the 
right  of  where  he  had  intended  to  strike.  It  made 
a  deep  and  cruel  gash,  and  felled  Farnham  to  the 
floor,  but  it  did  not  kill  him.  He  rose,  giddy  and 
faint  with  the  blow  and  half-blinded  with  the  blood 
that  poured  down  over  his  right  eye.  He  clapped 
his  hand,  with  a  soldier's  instinct,  to  the  place  where 
his  sword-hilt  was  not,  and  then  staggered,  rather 
than  rushed,  at  his  assailant,  to  grapple  him  with 
his  naked  hands.  Offitt  struck  him  once  more,  and 
he  fell  headlong  on  the  floor,  in  the  blaze  of  a  myriad 
lights  that  flashed  all  at  once  into  deep  darkness  and 
silence. 

The  assassin,  seeing  that  his  victim  no  longer 
moved,  threw  down  his  reeking  weapon,  and,  seiz 
ing  the  packages  of  money  on  the  desk,  thrust  them 
into  his  pockets.  He  stepped  back  through  the  open 
window  and  stooped  to  pick  up  his  shoes.  As  he 
rose,  he  saw  a  sight  which  for  an  instant  froze  him 
with  terror.  A  tall  and  beautiful  form,  dressed  all 
in  white,  was  swiftly  gliding  toward  him  over  the 
grass.  It  drew  near,  and  he  saw  its  pale  features 
set  in  a  terrible  expression  of  pity  and  horror.  It 
seemed  to  him  like  an  avenging  spirit.  He  shut  his 
eyes  for  a  moment  in  abject  fright,  and  the  phantom 
swept  by  him  and  leaped  like  a  white  doe  upon  the 
platform,  through  the  open  window,  and  out  of  his 
sight.  He  ran  to  the  gate,  quaking  and  trembling, 
then  walked  quietly  to  the  nearest  corner,  where  he 
sat  down  upon  the  curb-stone  and  put  on  his  shoes. 

Mrs.  Belding  followed,  as  rapidly  as  she  could, 
the  swift  flight  of  her  daughter;  but  it  was  some 
minutes  after  the  young  girl  had  leaped  through  the 


262  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

window  that  her  mother  walked  breathlessly  through 
the  front  door  and  the  hall  into  the  library.  She 
saw  there  a  sight  which  made  her  shudder  and  turn 
faint.  Alice  was  sitting  on  the  floor,  holding  in  her 
lap  the  blood-dabbled  head  of  Farnham.  Beside 
her  stood  a  glass  of  water,  a  pitcher,  and  several 
towels.  Some  of  them  were  red  and  saturated, 
some  were  still  fresh  and  neatly  folded.  She  was 
carefully  cleansing  and  wiping  the  white  forehead 
of  the  lifeless  man  of  the  last  red  drop. 

"  Oh,  Alice,  what  is  this  ?"  cried  her  mother. 

"  He  is  dead  !"  she  answered,  in  a  hoarse,  strained 
voice.  "  I  feared  so  when  I  first  came  in.  He  was 
lying  on  his  face.  1  lifted  him  up,  but  he  could  not 
see  me.  I  kissed  him,  hoping  he  might  kiss  me 
again.  But  he  did  not.  Then  I  saw  this  water  on 
the  stand  over  there.  I  remembered  there  were  al 
ways  towels  there  in  the  billiard-room.  I  ran  and 
got  them,  and  washed  the  blood  away  from  his  face. 
See,  his  face  is  not  hurt.  I  am  glad  of  that.  But 
there  is  a  dreadful  wound  in  his  head."  She  dropped . 
her  voice  to  a  choking  whisper  at  these  words. 

Her  mother  gazed  at  her  with  speechless  conster 
nation.  Had  the  shock  deprived  her  of  reason  ? 

"  Alice,"  she  said,  "  this  is  no  place  for  you.  I 
will  call  the  servants  and  send  for  a  surgeon,  and 
you  must  go  home." 

"  Oh,  no,  mamma.  I  see  I  have  frightened  you, 
but  there  is  no  need  to  be  frightened.  Yes,  call 
the  servants,  but  do  not  let  them  'come  in  here  for 
awhile,  not  till  the  doctors  come.  They  can  do  no 
good.  He  is  dead." 

Mrs.  Belding  had  risen  and  rung  the  bell  violently. 


THE   BREAD-WINDERS. 

"  Do,  mamma,  see  the  servants  in  the  hall  outside. 
Don't  let  them  come  in  for  a  moment.  Do !  I 
pray !  I  pray !  I  will  do  anything  for  you." 

There  was  such  intensity  of  passion  in  the  girl's 
prayer  that  her  mother  yielded,  and  when  the  ser 
vants  came  running  in,  half -dressed,  in  answer  to 
the  bell,  she  stepped  outside  the  door  and  said, 
"  Captain  Farnham  has  been  badly  hurt.  Two  of 
you  go  for  the  nearest  doctors.  You  need  not  come 
in  at  present.  My  daughter  and  I  will  take  care  of 
him." 

She  went  back,  closing  the  door  behind  her. 
Alice  was  smiling.  "  There,  you  are  a  dear !  I 
will  love  you  forever  for  that !  It  is  only  for  a  mo 
ment.  The  doctors  will  soon  be  here,  and  then  I 
must  give  him  up." 

"  Oh,  Alice,"  the  poor  lady  whimpered,  "  why  do 
you  talk  so  wildly  ?  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  Don't  cry,  mamma !  It  is  only  for  a  moment. 
It  is  all  very  simple.  I  am  not  crazy.  He  was  my 
lover !" 

"  Heaven  help  us !" 

"  Yes,  this  dear  man,  this  noble  man  offered  me 
his  love,  and  I  refused  it.  I  may  have  been  crazy 
then,  but  I  am  not  now.  I  can  love  him  now.  I 
will  be  his  widow — if  I  was  not  his  wife.  We  will 
be  two  widows  together — always.  Now  you  know 
I  am  doing  nothing  wrong  or  wild.  He  is  mine. 

"  Give  me  one  of  those  towels,"  she  exclaimed, 
suddenly.  "  I  can  tie  up  his  head  so  that  it  will 
stop  bleeding  till  the  doctors  come." 

She  took  the  towels,  tore  strips  from  her  own 
dress,  and  in  a  few  moments,  with  singular  skill  and 


264:  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

tenderness,  she  had  stopped  the  flow  of  blood  from 
the  wound. 

"  There !  He  looks  almost  as  if  he  were  asleep, 
does  he  not  ?  Oh,  my  love,  my  love !" 

Up  to  this  moment  she  had  not  shed  one  tear. 
Her  voice  was  strained,  choked,  and  sobbing,  but 
her  eyes  were  dry.  She  kissed  him  on  his  brow  and 
his  mouth.  She  bent  over  him  and  laid  her  smooth 
cheek  to  his.  She  murmured  : 

"  Good-by,  good-by,  till  I  come  to  you,  my  own 
love !" 

All  at  once  she  raised  her  head  with  a  strange 
light  in  her  eyes.  "  Mamma !"  she  cried,  "  see  how 
warm  his  cheek  is.  Heaven  is  merciful!  perhaps 
he  is  alive." 

She  put  both  arms  about  him,  and,  gently  but 
powerfully  lifting  his  dead  weight  of  head  and 
shoulders,  drew  him  to  her  heart.  She  held  him  to 
her  warm  bosom,  rocking  him  to  and  fro.  "Oh, 
my  beloved !"  she  murmured,  "  if  you  will  live,  I 
will  be  so  good  to  you." 

She  lowered  him  again,  resting  his  head  on  her 
lap.  A  drop  of  blood,  from  the  napkin  in  which 
his  head  was  wrapped,  had  touched  the  bosom  of 
her  dress,  staining  it  as  if  a  cherry  had  been  crushed 
there.  She  sat,  gazing  with  an  anguish  of  hope  upon 
his  pale  face.  A  shudder  ran  through  him,  and  ^e 
opened  his  eyes — only  for  a  moment.  He  groaned, 
and  slowly  closed  them. 

The  tears  could  no  longer  be  restrained.  They 
fell  like  a  summer  shower  from  her  eyes,  while  she 
sobbed,  "  Thank  God  !  my  darling  is  not  dead." 

Her  quick  ear  caught  footsteps  at  the  outer  door. 


THE   BKEAD-WINNERS.  265 

"  Here,  mamma,  take  my  place.  Let  me  hide  be 
fore  all  those  men  come  in." 

In  a  moment  she  had  leaped  through  the  window, 
whence  she  ran  through  the  dewy  grass  to  her  home. 

An  hour  afterward  her  mother  returned,  escorted 
by  one  of  the  surgeons.  She  found  Alice  in  bed, 
peacefully  sleeping.  As  Mrs.  Belding  approached 
the  bedside,  Alice  woke  and  smiled.  "  I  know 
without  your  telling  me,  mamma.  He  will  live.  I 
began  to  pray  for  him, — but  I  felt  sure  he  would 
live,  and  so  I  gave  thanks  instead." 

"You  are  a  strange  girl,"  said  Mrs.  Belding, 
gravely.  "  But  you  are  right.  Dr.  Cutts  says,  if 
he  escapes  without  fever,  there  is  nothing  very 
serious  in  the  wound  itself.  The  blow  that  made 
that  gash  in  his  head  was  not  the  one  which  made 
him  unconscious.  They  found  another,  behind  his 
ear ;  the  skin  was  not  broken.  There  was  a  flump 
about  as  big  as  a  walnut.  They  said  it  was  concus 
sion  of  the  brain,  but  no  fracture  anywhere.  By 
the  way,  Dr.  Cutts  complimented  me  very  hand 
somely  on  the  way  I  had  managed  the  case  before 
his  arrival.  He  said  there  was  positively  a  profes 
sional  excellence  about  my  bandage.  You  may 
imagine  I  did  not  set  him  right." 

Alice,  laughing  and  blushing,  said,  "  I  will  allow 
you  all  the  credit." 

Mrs.  Belding  kissed  her,  and  said,  "  Good-night," 
and  walked  to  the  door.  There  she  paused  a 
moment,  and  came  back  to  the  bed.  "I  think, 
after  all,  I  had  better  say  now  what  I  thought  of 
keeping  till  to-morrow.  I  thank  you  for  your  con 
fidence  to-night,  and  shall  respect  it.  But  you  will 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

see,  I  am  sure,  the  necessity  of  being  very  circum 
spect,  under  the  circumstances.  If  you  should 
want  to  do  anything  for  Arthur  while  he  is  ill,  I 
should  feel  it  my  duty  to  forbid  it." 

Alice  received  this  charge  with  frank,  open  eyes. 
"I  should  not  dream  of  such  a  thing,"  she  said. 
"  If  he  had  died,  I  should  have  been  his  widow ; 
but,  as  he  is  to  live,  he  must  come  for  me  if  lie 
wants  me.  I  was  very  silly  about  him,  but  I  must 
take  the  consequences.  I  can't  now  take  advantage 
of  the  poor  fellow,  by  saving  his  life  and  establish 
ing  a  claim  on  it.  So  I  will  promise  anything  you 
want.  I  am  so  happy  that  I  will  promise  easily. 
But  I  am  also  very  sleepy." 

The  beautiful  eyelids  were  indeed  heavy  and» 
drooping.  The  night's  excitement  had  left  her 
wearied  and  utterly  content.  She  fell  asleep  even 
as  her  mother  kissed  her  forehead. 

The  feeling  of  Offitt  as  he  left  Algonquin  Avenue 
and  struck  into  a  side  street  was  one  of  pure  exul 
tation.  He  had  accomplished  the  boldest  act  of  his 
life.  He  had  shown  address,  skill,  and  courage. 
He  had  done  a  thing  which  had  appalled  him'  in 
the  contemplation,  merely  on  account  of  its  physical 
difficulties  and  dangers.  He  had  done  it  success 
fully.  He  had  a  large  amount  of  money  in  his 
pocket — enough  to  carry  his  bride  to  the  ends,  of 
the  earth.  When  it  was  gone — well,  at  worst,  he 
could  leave  her,  and  shift  for  himself  again.  He 
had  not  a  particle  of  regret  or  remorse ;  and,  in  fact, 
these  sentiments  are  far  rarer  than  moralists  would 
have  us  believe.  A  ruffian  who  commits  a  crime 
usually  glories  in  it.  It  exalts  him  in  his  own  eyes, 


THE   BRE  A. D- WINNERS.  267 

all  the  more  that  he  is  compelled  to  keep  silent 
about  it.  As  Offitt  walked  rapidly  in  the  direction 
of  Dean  Street,  the  only  shadow  on  his  exultation 
was  his  sudden  perception  of  the  fact  that  he  had 
better  not  tell  Maud  what  he  had  done.  In  all  his 
plans  he  had  promised  himself  the  pleasure  of  tell 
ing  her  that  she  was  avenged  upon  her  enemy  by 
the  hands  of  her  lover;  he  had  thought  he  might 
extort  his  first  kiss  by  that  heroic  avowal ;  but  now, 
as  he  walked  stealthily  down  the  silent  street,  he 
saw  that  nobody  in  the  universe  could  be  made  his 
confidant. 

"  I'll  never  own  it,  in  earth  or  hell,"  he  said  to 
himself. 

When  lie  reached  Matching  cottage,  all  was  dark 
and  still.  He  tried  to  attract  Maud's  attention  by 
throwing  soft  clods  of  earth  against  her  window, 
but  her  sleep  was  too  sound.  He  was  afraid  to 
throw  pebbles  for  fear  of  breaking  the  panes  and 
waking  the  family.  He  went  into  the  little  yard 
adjoining  the  shop,  and  found  a  ladder.  He 
brought  it  out,  and  placed  it  against  the  wall.  He 
perceived  now  for  the  first  time  that  his  hands  were 
sticky.  He  gazed  at  them  a  moment.  "  Oh,  yes," 
he  said  to  himself,  "when  he  fell  I  held  out  my 
hands  to  keep  his  head  from  touching  my  clothes. 
Careless  trick !  Ought  to  have  washed  them,  first 
thing."  Then,  struck  by  a  sudden  idea,  he  went  to 
the  well-curb,  and  slightly  moistened  his  fingers. 
He  then  rubbed  them  on  the  door-knob,  and  the 
edge  of  the  door  of  the  cottage,  and  pressed  them 
several  times  in  different  places  on  the  ladder. 
"  Not  a  bad  scheme,"  he  said,  chuckling.  He  then 


268  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

went  again  to  the  well,  and  washed  his  hands  thor 
oughly,  afterward  taking  a  handful  of  earth,  and 
rubbing  them  till  they  were  as  dirty  as  usual. 

After  making  all  these  preparations  for  future 
contingencies,  he  mounted  the  ladder,  and  tried  to 
raise  the  window.  It  was  already  open  a  few  inches 
to  admit  the  air,  but  was  fastened  there,  and  he 
could  not  stir  it.  He  began  to  call  and  whistle  in 
as  low  and  penetrating  a  tone  as  he  could  manage, 
and  at  last  awoke  Maud,  whose  bed  was  only  a  few 
feet  away.  She  started  up  with  a  low  cry  of  alarm, 
but  saw  in  a  moment  who  it  was. 

"  Well,  what  on  earth  are  you  doing  here  ?  Go 
away  this  minute,  or  I'll  call  my  father." 

"  Let  me  in,  and  I  will  tell  you." 

"I'll  do  nothing  of  the  sort.  Begone  this  in 
stant." 

"Maud,  don't  be  foolish,"  he  pleaded,  in  real 
alarm,  as  he  saw  that  she  was  angry  and  insulted. 
"  I  have  done  as  you  told  me.  I  have  wealth  for 
us  both,  and  I  have" — he  had  almost  betrayed  him 
self,  but  he  concluded — "  I  have  come  to  take  you 
away  forever." 

"  Come  to-morrow,  at  a  decent  hour,  and  I  will 
talk  to  you." 

"  Now,  Maud,  my  beauty,  don't  believe  I  am  hum 
bugging.  I  brought  a  lot  of  money  for  you  to  look 
at — I  knew  you  wanted  to  be  sure.  See  here!" 
He  drew  from  his  pocket  a  package  of  bank  bills — he 
saw  a  glittering  stain  on  them.  He  put  them  in  the 
other  pocket  of  his  coat  and  took  out  another  pack 
age.  "  And  here's  another,  I've  got  a  dozen  like 
them.  Handle  'em  yourself."  He  put  them  in 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  269 

through  the  window.  Maud  was  so  near  that  she 
could  take  the  bills  by  putting  out  her  hand.  She 
saw  there  was  a  large  amount  of  money  there — more 
than  she  had  ever  seen  before. 

"  Come,  my  beauty,"  he  said,  "  this  is  only  spend- 
ing-money  for  a  bridal  tour.  There  are  millions  be 
hind  it.  Get  up  and  put  on  your  dress.  I  will  wait 
below  here.  We  can  take  the  midnight  train  east, 
be  married  at  Clairfield,  and  sail  for  Paris  the  next 
day.  That's  the  world  for  you  to  shine  in.  Come ! 
Waste  no  time.  'No  tellin'  what  may  happen  to 
morrow." 

She  was  strongly  tempted.  She  had  no  longer 
any  doubt  of  his  wealth.  He  was  not  precisely  a 
hero  in  appearance,  but  she  had  never  insisted  upon 
that — her  romance  having  been  always  of  a  practi 
cal  kind.  She  was  about  to  assent — and  to  seal  her 
doom — when  she  suddenly  remembered  that  all  her 
best  clothes  were  in  her  mother's  closet,  which  was 
larger  than  hers,  and  that  she  could  not  get  them 
without  passing  through  the  room  where  her  par 
ents  were  asleep.  That  ended  the  discussion.  It 
was  out  of  the  question  that  she  should  marry  this 
magnificent  stranger  in  her  e very-day  dress  and  cot 
ton  stockings.  It  was  equally  impossible  that  she 
should  give  that  reason  to  any  man.  So  she  said, 
with  dignity : 

"  Mr.  Offitt,  it  is  not  proper  for  me  to  continue 
this  conversation  any  longer.  You  ought  to  see  it 
ain't.  I  shall  be  happy  to  see  you  to-morrow." 

Offitt  descended  the  ladder,  grinding  out  CUESOS 
between  his  set  teeth.  A  hate,  as  keen  as  his  pas 
sion,  for  the  foolish  girl  fired  him,  "  Think,"  h© 


270  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

hissed,  "  a  man  that  killed,  half  an  hour  ago,  the 
biggest  swell  in  Buffland,  to  be  treated  that  way  by 
a  carpenter's  wench.  Walt  awhile,  Miss ;  it'll  come 
my  innings."  He  lifted  up  the  ladder,  carried  it 
carefully  around  the  house,  and  leaned  it  against  the 
wall  under  the  window  of  the  room  occupied  by 
Sleeny. 

He  hurried  back  to  his  lodging  in  Perry  Place, 
where  he  found  Sam  Sleeny  lying  asleep  on  his  bed. 
He  was  not  very  graciously  greeted  by  his  drowsy 
visitor. 

"Why  didn't  you  stay  out  all  night?"  Sam 
growled.  "  Where  have  you  been,  anyhow  ?" 

"  I've  been  at  the  variety-show,  and  it  was  the 
boss  fraud  of  the  season." 

".  You  stayed  so  long  you  must  have  liked  it." 

"  I  was  waiting  to  see  just  how  bad  a  show  could 
be  and  not  spoil." 

"  What  did  you  want  to  see  me  about  to 
night  ?" 

"  The  fact  is,  I  expected  to  meet  a  man  around  at 
the  Varieties  who  was  io  go  in  with  us  into  a  big 
thing.  But  he  wasn't  there.  I'll  nail  him  to-mor 
row,  and  then  we  can  talk.  It's  big  money,  Sammy, 
and  no  discount.  What  would  you  think  of  a  thou 
sand  dollars  a  month  ?"  . 

"  I'd  a  heap  rather  see  it  than  hear  you  chin  about - 
it.  Give  me  my  hammer,  and  I'll  go  home." 

"  Why,  I  took  it  round  to  your  shop  this  evening, 
and  I  tossed  it  in  through  the  window.  I  meant  to 
throw  it  upon  the  table,  but  it  went  over,  I  think 
from  the  sound,  and  dropped  on  the  floor.  You  wijl 
find  it  among  the  shavings,  I  reckon." 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  271 

"  Well,  I'm  off,"  said  Sam,  by  way  of  good-night. 

"All  right.     Guess  I'll  see  you  to-morrow." 

Offitt  waited  till  he  could  hear  the  heavy  tread  of 
Sleeny  completing  the  first  flight  of  stairs  and  going 
around  to  the  head  of  the  second.  He  then  shut 
and  locked  his  door,  and  hung  his  hat  over  the  key 
hole.  He  turned  up  his  lamp  and  sat  down  by  the 
table  to  count  his  night's  gains.  The  first  package 
he  took  from  his  pocket  had  a  shining  stain  upon  the 
outside  bill.  He  separated  the  stained  bill  carefully 
from  the  rest,  and  held  it  a  moment  in  his  hand  as 
if  in  doubt.  He  walked  to  his  wash-stand,  but  at 
the  moment  of  touching  his  pitcher  he  stopped  short. 
He  took  out  his  handkerchief,  but  shook  his  head 
and  put  it  back.  Finally,  he  lighted  a  match,  ap 
plied  it  to  the  corner  of  the  bill,  and  watched  it  take 
fire  and  consume,  until  his  fingers  were  scorched  by 
the  blaze.  "  Pity  1"  he  whispered — "  good  money 
like  that." 

He  seated  himself  again  and  began  withva  fierce, 
sustained  delight  to  arrange  and  sort  the  bank-bills, 
laying  the  larger  denominations  by  themselves, 
smoothing  them  down  with  a  quick  and  tender  touch, 
a  kindling  eye  and  a  beating  heart.  In  his  whole 
life,  past  and  future,  there  was  not  such  another  mo 
ment  of  enjoyment.  Money  is,  of  course,  precious 
and  acceptable  to  all  men  except  idiots.  But,  if  it 
means  much  to  the  good  and  virtuous,  how  infinitely 
more  it  means  to  the  thoroughly  depraved — the  in 
stant  gratification  of  every  savage  and  hungry  devil 
of  a  passion  which  their  vile  natures  harbor.  Though 
the  first  and  principal  thing  Offitt  thought  of  wag 
the  possession  of  Maud  Matchin,  his  excited  fancy 


872  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

did  not  stop  there.  A  long  gallery  of  vicious  pio« 
tures  stretched  out  before  his  flaming  eyes,  as  he 
reckoned  up  the  harvest  of  his  hand.  The  mere 
thought  that  each  bill  represented  a  dinner,  where 
he  might  eat  and  drink  what  he  liked,  was  enough 
to  inebriate  a  starved  rogue  whose  excesses  had  al 
ways  been  limited  by  his  poverty. 

When  he  had  counted  and  sorted  his  cash,  he 
took  enough  for  his  immediate  needs  and  put  it  in 
his  wallet.  The  rest  he  made  up  into  convenient 
packages,  which  he  tied  compactly  with  twine  and 
disposed  in  his  various  pockets.  "  I'll  chance  it," 
he  thought,  after  some  deliberation.  "  If  they  get 
me,  they  can  get  the  money,  too.  But  they  sha'n't 
get  it  without  me." 

He  threw  himself  on  his  bed,  and  slept  soundly 
till  morning. 


THE   BREAD-WIKNERS.  273 

XVIII. 

OFFITT  PLANS  A  LONG  JOURNEY. 

THE  bright  sun  and  the  morning  noises  of  the 
city  waked  Offitt  from  his  sleep.  As  he  dressed 
himself  the  weight  of  the  packages  in  his  pockets 
gave  him  a  pleasant  sensation  to  begin  the  day  with. 
He  felt  as  if  he  were  entering  upon  a  new  state  of 
existence — a  life  with  plenty  of  money.  He  com 
posed  in  his  mind  an  elaborate  breakfast  as  he 
walked  down-stairs  and  took  his  way  to  a  restaurant, 
which  he  entered  with  the  assured  step  of  a  man  of 
capital.  He  gave  his  order  to  the  waiter  with  more 
decision  than  usual,  and  told  him  in  closing  "  not  to 
be  all  day  about  it,  either." 

While  waiting  for  his  breakfast,  he  opened  the 
morning  "  Bale  Fire"  to  see  if  there  was  any 
account  of  "  The  Algonquin  Avenue  Tragedy." 
This  was  the  phrase  which  he  had  arranged  in  his 
mind  as  the  probable  head-line  of  the  article.  He 
had  so  convinced  himself  of  the  efficacy  of  his  own 
precautions,  that  he  anticipated  the  same  pleasure  in 
reading  the  comments  upon  his  exploit  that  an 
author  whose  incognito  is  assured  enjoys  in  reading 
the  criticisms  of  his  anonymous  work.  He  was  at 
first  disappointed  in  seeing  no  allusion  to  the  affair 
in  the  usual  local  columns;  but  at  last  discovered  in 
a  corner  of  the  paper  this  double-leaded  postscript : 

"We  stop  the  press  to  state  that  an  appalling  crime  was 
last  night  committed  in  Algonquin  Avenue.  The  mansion  of 

18 


274 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 


Arthur  Farnhara,  Esq.,  was  eutered  by  burglars  between  ten 
and  eleven  o'clock,  and  that  gentleman  assaulted  and  probably 
murdered. 

"Full  particulars  in  a  later  edition." 

"  LATER.  Captain  Farnham  is  still  living,  and  some  hopei 
are  entertained  of  bis  recovery.  The  police  have  found  the 
weapon  with  which  the  almost  fatal  blow  was  struck — a  car 
penter's  hammer  marked  with  a  letter  S.  It  is  thought  this 
clew  will  lead  to  the  detection  of  the  guilty  parties. " 

Offitt  was  not  entirely  pleased  with  the  tone  of 
this  notice.  He  had  expected  some  reference  to  the 
address  and  daring  of  the  burglar.  But  he  smiled 
to  himself,  "  Why  should  I  care  for  Sam's  reputa 
tion  ?"  and  ate  his  breakfast  with  a  good  appetite. 
Before  he  had  finished,  however,  he  greatly  modi 
fied  his  plan,  which  was  to  have  the  threads  of 
evidence  lead  naturally,  of  themselves,  to  the  con 
viction  of  Sleeny.  He  determined  to  frighten  Sam, 
if  possible,  out  of  the  city,  knowing  that  his  flight 
would  be  conclusive  evidence  of  guilt.  He  swal 
lowed  his  coffee  hurriedly  and  walked  down  to  Dean 
Street,  where  by  good  fortune  he  found  Sam  alone 
in  the  shop.  He  was  kicking  about  a  pile  of  shav 
ings  on  the  floor.  He  turned  as  Ofh'tt  entered  and 
said  :  "  Oh,  there  you  are.  I  can't  find  that  ham 
mer  anywhere." 

Offitt's  face  assumed  a  grieved  expression.  "  Come, 
come,  Sam,  don't  stand  me  off  that  way.  I'm  your 
friend,  if  you've  got  one  in  the  world.  You  mustn't 
lose  a  minute  more.  You've  got  time  now  to  catch 
the  8.40.  Come,  jump  in  a  hack  and  be  off." 

His  earnestness  and  rapidity  confused  Sleeny, 
and  drove  all  thoughts  of  the  hammer  from  his 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  275 

mind.  He  stared  at  Offitt  blankly,  and  said,  "  Why, 
what  are  you  givin'  me  now  ?" 

"  I'm  a-givin'  you  truth  and  friendship,  and  few 
est  words  is  best.  Come,  light  out,  and  write 
where  you  stop.  I'll  see  you  through." 

"  See  here,"  roared  Sam,  "  are  you  crazy  or  am  I  ? 
Speak  out !  What's  up  ?" 

"  Oh !  I've  got  to  speak  it  out,  raw  and  plain, 
have  I  ?  Yery  well !  Art.  Farnham  was  attacked 
and  nearly  murdered  last  night,  and  if  you  didn't 
do  it  who  did  ?  Now  come,  for  the  Lord's  sake, 
get  off  before  the  police  get  here.  I  never  thought 
you  had  the  sand — but  I  see  you've  got  too  much. 
Don't  lose  time  talking  any  more.  I'm  glad  you've 
killed  him.  You  done  just  right — but  I  don't  want 
to  see  you  hung  for  it." 

His  excitement  and  feigned  earnestness  had 
brought  the  tears  to  his  eyes.  Sam  saw  them  and 
was  convinced. 

"  Andy,"  he  said  solemnly,  "  I  know  you're  my 
friend,  and  mean  right.  I'll  swear  before  God  it 
wasn't  me,  and  I  know  nothing  about  it,  and  I  won't 
run  away." 

"  But  how  will  we  prove  it,"  said  Offitt,  wringing 
his  hands  in  distress.  "  Where  was  you  last  night 
from  ten  to  eleven  ?" 

"  You  know  where  I  was — in  your  room.  I  went 
there  just  after  nine  and  fell  asleep  waiting  for  you." 

"  Yes,  of  course,  but  who  knows  it  ?  Sam,  I  be 
lieve  you  are  innocent  since  you  say  so.  But  see 
the  circumstances.  You  have  talked  about  goin' 
for  him.  You  have  had  a  fight  with  him,  and  got 
put  in  jail  for  it,  and — "  he  was  about  to  mention 


276  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

the  hammer,  but  was  afraid — "  I  wish  you  would 
take  my  advice  and  go  off  for  a  week  or  so  till  the 
truth  comes  out.  I'll  lend  you  all  the  money  you 
want.  I'm  flush  this  week." 

"  No,  Andy,"  said  Sleeny,  "  nobody  could  be 
kinder  than  you.  But  I  won't  run  away.  They 
can't  put  a  man  where  he  wasn't." 

"  Very  well,"  replied  Offitt,  "  I  admire  your 
pluck,  and  I'll  swear  a  blue  streak  for  you  when  the 
time  comes.  And  perhaps  I  had  better  get  away 
now  so  they  won't  know  I've  been  with  you." 

He  went  without  a  moment's  delay  to  the  chief 
of  police  and  told  him  that  he  had  a  disagreeable 
duty  to  perform;  that  he  knew  the  murderer  of 
Captain  Farnham ;  that  the  criminal  was  an  intimate 
friend  of  his,  a  young  man  hitherto  of  good  charac 
ter  named  Sleeny. 

"  AL-ha !"  said  the  chief.  "  That  was  the  fellow 
that  Captain  Farnham  knocked  down  and  arrested 
in  the  riot." 

"  The  same,"  said  Offitt.  "  He  has  since  that  been 
furious  against  the  Captain.  I  have  reasoned  with 
him  over  and  over  about  it.  Yesterday  he  came  to 
see  me ;  showed  me  a  hammer  he  had  just  bought 
at  Ware  &  Harden's ;  said  he  was  going  to  break 
Arthur  Farnham's  skull  with  it.  I  didn't  believe 
he  would,  he  had  said  it  so  often  before.  While 
we  were  talking,  I  took  the  hammer  and  cut  his 
initial  on  it,  a  letter  S."  The  chief  nodded,  with  a 
broad  smile.  "  He  then  left  me,  and  when  I  came 
back  to  my  room  a  little  before  midnight,  I  found 
Lim  there.  He  looked  excited,  and  wanted  me  to 
go  and  get  a  drink  with  him.  I  declined,  and  he 


THE   BREAD-WINDERS.  277 

went  off.  This  morning  when  I  heard  about  the 
murder  I  said :  '  He's  the  man  that  did  the  deed.'  " 

"  You  have  not  seen  him  since  last  night  ?" 

"  No ;  I  suppose,  of  course,  he  has  run  away." 

«  Where  did  he  live?" 

"  Dean  Street,  at  Matchin's  the  carpenter." 

The  chief  turned  to  his  telegraphic  operator  and 
rapidly  gave  orders  for  the  arrest  of  Sleeny  by  the 
police  of  the  nearest  station.  He  also  sent  for  the 
clerks  who  were  on  duty  the  day  before  at  "Ware  & 
Harden's. 

"  Mr. ,  I  did  not  get  your  name,"  he  said  to 

Offitt,  who  gave  him  his  name  and  address.  "  You 
have  acted  the  part  of  a  good  citizen." 

u  The  most  painful  act  of  my  life,"  Offitt  mur 
mured. 

"  Of  course.  But  duty  before  everything.  I  will 
have  to  ask  you  to  wait  a  little  while  in  the  ad 
joining  room  till  we  see  whether  this  man  can  be 
found." 

Offitt  was  shown  into  a  small  room,  barely  fur 
nished,  with  two  doors ;  the  one  through  which  he 
had  just  come,  and  one  opening  apparently  into  the 
main  corridor  of  the  building.  Offitt,  as  soon  as  he 
was  alone,  walked  stealthily  to  the  latter  door  and 
tried  to  open  it.  It  was  locked,  and  there  was  no 
key.  He  glanced  at  the  window ;  there  was  an  iron 
grating  inside  the  sash,  which  was  padlocked.  A 
cold  sweat  bathed  him  from  head  to  foot.  He  sank 
into  a  chair,  trembling  like  a  leaf.  He  felt  for  his 
handkerchief  to  wipe  his  wet  forehead.  His  hand 
touched  one  of  the  packages  of  money.  He  bounded 
from  his  chair  in  sudden  joy.  "  They  did  not  search 


278  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

me,  so  they  dorr  t  suspect.  It  is  only  to  make  snre 
of  my  evidence  that  they  keep  me  here."  Never 
theless,  the  time  went  heavily.  At  last  an  officer 
came  in  and  said  he  was  to  come  to  the  police  jus 
tice's  for  the  preliminary  examination  of  Sleeny. 

"  They  have  caught  him,  then  ?"  he  asked,  with 
assumed  eagerness  and  surprise.  "  He  had  not  got 
away  ?" 

"  No,"  the  man  answered  curtly. 

They  came  to  the  court-room  in  a  few  steps.  Sam 
was  there  between  two  policemen.  As  Offitt  en 
tered,  he  smiled  and  slightly  nodded.  One  or 
two  men  who  had  been  summoned  as  witnesses 
were  standing  near  the  justice.  The  proceedings 
were  summary. 

One  of  the  policemen  said  that  he  had  gone  to 
Matchin's  shop  to  arrest  the  prisoner ;  that  the  pris 
oner  exhibited  no  surprise ;  his  first  words  were, 
"Is  Mr.  Farnham  dead  yet?" 

Offitt  was  then  called  upon,  and  he  repeated, 
clearly  and  concisely,  the  story  he  had  told  the 
chief  of  police.  When  he  had  concluded  he  was 
shown  the  hammer  which  had  been  picked  up  on  the 
floor  at  Farnham's,  and  was  asked,  "  Is  that  the  ham 
mer  you  refer  to  ?" 

"Yes,  that  is  it." 

These  words  were  the  signal  for  a  terrible  scene. 

When  Sleeny  saw  Offitt  step  forward  and  begin 
to  give  his  evidence,  he  leaned  forward  with  a  smile 
of  pleased  expectation  upon  his  face.  He  had  such 
confidence  in  his  friend's  voluble  cleverness  that  he 
had  no  doubt  Offitt  would  "  talk  him  free"  in  a  few 
minutes.  He  was  confused  a  little  by  his  opening 


THE   BREAD-WINKERS.  279 

words,  not  clearly  seeing  his  drift ;  but  as  the  story 
went  on,  and  Offitt's  atrocious  falsehood  became 
clear  to  his  mind,  he  was  dumb  with  stupefaction, 
and  felt  a  strange  curiosity  wakening  in  him  to  see 
how  the  story  would  end.  He  did  not,  for  the  mo 
ment,  see  what  object  Offitt  could  have  in  lying  so, 
until  the  thought  occurred  to  him  :  "  May  be  there's 
a  reward  out !"  But  when  the  blood-stained  ham 
mer  was  shown  and  identified  by  Offitt,  all  doubt 
was  cleared  away  in  a  flash  from  the  dull  brain  of 
Sleeny.  He  saw  the  whole  horrible  plot  of  which 
he  was  the  victim. 

He  rose  from  his  seat  before  the  officer  could  stop 
him,  and  roared  like  a  lion  in  the  toils,  in  a  voice 
filled  equally  with  agony  and  rage : 

"  You  murdering  liar !  I'll  tear  your  heart  out 
of  you !" 

There  was  a  wide  table  and  several  chairs  between 
them,  but  Sleeny  was  over  them  in  an  instant.  Of 
fitt  tried  to  escape,  but  was  so  hemmed  in,  that  the 
infuriated  man  had  him  in  his  hands  before  the  of 
ficers  could  interpose.  If  they  had  delayed  a  mo 
ment  longer  all  would  have  been  over,  for  already 
Sleeny's  hands  were  at  the  throat  of  his  betrayer. 
But  two  powerful  policemen  with  their  clubs  soon 
separated  the  combatants,  and  Sleeny  was  dragged 
back  and  securely  handcuffed. 

Offitt,  ghastly  pale  and  trembling,  had  sunk  upon 
a  bench.  The  justice,  looking  at  him  narrowly,  said : 
*  The  man  is  going  to  faint ;  loosen  his  collar." 

"  No,"  said  Offitt,  springing  to  his  feet.  "  I  am 
perfectly  well." 

In  his  struggle  with  Sleeny  a  button  of  his  coat 


280  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

had  been  torn  away.  He  asked  a  by-stander  for 
a  pin,  and  carefully  adjusted  the  garment.  The 
thought  in  his  mind  was,  "I  don't  mind  being 
killed ;  but  I  thought  he  might  tear  off  my  coat, 
and  show  them  my  money."  From  this  moment 
he  kept  his  hand  in  such  position  that  he  might  feel 
the  packages  in  his  pockets. 

Sleeny  was  still  panting  and  screaming  execra 
tions  at  Offitt.  The  justice  turned  to  him  with 
sternness,  and  said,  "  Silence  there !  Have  you  not 
sense  enough  to  see  how  your  ferocious  attack  on 
the  witness  damages  you  ?  If  you  can't  restrain  your 
devilish  temper  while  your  friend  is  giving  his  evi 
dence,  it  will  be  all  the  worse  for  you." 

"Judge,"  cried  Sam,  now  fairly  beside  himself, 
"  that's  the  murderer !  I  know  it.  I  can  prove  it. 
He  ain't  fit  to  live.  I'll  break  his  neck  yet !" 

Offitt  raised  his  hands  and  eyes  in  deprecating 
sorrow. 

"  This  is  the  wild  talk  of  a  desperate  man,"  said 
the  justice.  "  But  you  may  as  well  tell  us  how  you 
passed  last  evening." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Offitt,  consulting  his  memory. 
"Let  me  see.  I  took  supper  about  seven  at  Duf 
fer's  ;  I  went  to  Glauber's  drug-store  next  and  got  a 
glass  of  soda  water  ;  if  they  don't  know  me,  they'll 
remember  my  breaking  a  glass ;  then  I  made  a  visit 
at  Mr.  Matchin's  on  Dean  Street ;  then  I  went  to 
the  Orleans  theatre ;  I  come  out  between  the  acts 
and  got  a  cup  of  coffee  at  Mouchem's — then  I  went 
back  and  stayed  till  the  show  was  <wer,  that  was 
about  half -past ,  el  even.  Then  I  went  home  and 
found  Mr.  Sleeny  there." 


THE  BREAD-WINKERS.  281 

"  You  had  better  go  with  Mr.  Fangwell,  and  let 
him  verify  this  statement,"  said  the  justice. 

He  then  called  the  policeman  who  arrived  first  at 
Farnham's  house  the  night  before.  He  told  his 
story  and  identified  the  hammer  which  had  been 
shown  to  Offitt.  A  young  man  from  Ware  &  Har- 
den's  swore  that  he  had  sold  the  hammer  the  day 
before  to  Sleeny,  whom  he  knew.  The  justice  held 
this  evidence  sufficient  to  justify  Sleeny's  detention. 

"  I  should  think  so,"  said  some  of  the  by-standers. 
"  If  it  don't  hang  him,  there's  a  loud  call  for  Judge 
Lynch." 

"  Silence !"  said  the  justice.  "  The  prisoner  will 
be  taken  for  the  present  to  the  city  jail." 

Sam  was  led  out,  and  Offitt  accompanied  the  chief 
of  police  back  to  the  room  he  had  just  quitted.  He 
remained  there  several  hours  which  seemed  to  him 
interminable.  At  last, 'however,  the  detective  who 
had  been  sent  to  inquire  as  to  the  truth  of  the  ac 
count  he  had  given  of  himself,  returned  with  a  full 
confirmation  of  it,  and  Offitt  was  suffered  to  go,  on 
his  own  engagement  to  give  further  evidence  when 
called  upon. 

He  left  the  City  Hall  with  a  great  load  off  his 
mind.  It  was  not  without  an  effort  that  he  had 
sworn  away  the  character,  the  freedom,  and  perhaps 
the  life  of  his  comrade.  If  he  could  have  accom 
plished  his  purpose  without  crushing  Sleeny  he 
would  have  preferred  it.  But  the  attack  which  his 
goaded  victim  had  made  upon  him  in  the  court-room 
was  now  a  source  of  L/ely  satisfaction  to  him.  It 
created  a  strong  prejudice  against  the  prisoner;  it 
caused  the  justice  at  once  to  believe  him  guilty,  and 


282  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

gave  Offitt  himself  an  injured  feeling  that  was  ex 
tremely  comforting  in  view  of  what  was  to  happen 
to  Sleeny. 

He  went  along  the  street  tapping  his  various 
pockets  furtively  as  he  walked.  He  was  hungry. 
His  diverse  emotions  had  given  him  an  appetite. 
He  went  into  an  eating-house  and  commanded  a 
liberal  supper.  He  had  an  odd  fancy  as  he  gave 
his  order.  "  That's  the  sort  of  supper  I  would 
have,  if  it  was  my  last — if  I  was  to  be  hanged  to 
morrow."  He  thought  of  Sleeny  and  hoped  they 
would  treat  him  well  in  jail.  He  felt  magnani 
mously  toward  him.  "  Who  would  have  thought," 
he  mused,  "  that  Sam  had  such  a  devil  of  a  temper  ? 
I  most  hope  that  Farnham  won't  die — it  would  be 
rough  on  Sam.  Though  perhaps  that  would  be 
best  all  round,"  he  added,  thinking  of  Sam's  purple 
face  in  the  court-room  and  the  eager  grip  of  his 
fingers. 

He  came  out  of  the  eating-house  into  the  gather 
ing  twilight.  The  lamps  were  springing  into  light 
in  long  straight  lines  down  the  dusky  streets.  The 
evening  breeze  blew  in  from  the  great  lake  temper 
ing  the  stale  heat  of  the  day.  Boys  were  crying 
the  late  editions  of  the  newspapers  with  "  Full  ac 
count  arrest  o'  the  Farnham  burglar !"  He  bought 
one,  but  did  not  stop  to  open  it.  He  folded  it  into 
the  smallest  possible  compass,  and  stuffed  it  into 
his  pocket,  "  along  with  the  other  documents  in  the 
case,"  as  he  chuckled  to  himself ;  "  I'll  read  all  about 
it  in  the  train  to-morrow — business  before  pleasure," 
he  continued,  pleased  with  his  wit. 

Every  moment  he  would  put  his  hand  into  hii 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  288 

eide  pocket  and  feel  the  package  containing  the 
largest  bills.  He  knew  it  was  imprudent — that  it 
might  attract  the  attention  of  thieves  or  detectives ; 
but  to  save  his  life  he  could  not  have  kept  from  do 
ing  it.  At  last  he  scratched  his  hand  on  the  pin 
which  was  doing  duty  for  the  button  he  had  lost  in 
his  scuffle  with  Sleeny.  "  Ah !"  he  said  to  himself, 
with  humorous  banter,  "  it  won't  do  to  be  married 
in  a  coat  with  the  buttons  off." 

He  went  into  a  little  basement  shop  where  a  sign 
announced  that  "Scouring  and  Repairing"  were 
done.  A  small  and  bald  Hamburger  stepped  for 
ward,  rubbing  his  hands.  Offitt  told  him  what  he 
wanted,  and  the  man  got  a  needle  and  thread  and 
selected  from  a  large  bowl  of  buttons  on  a  shelf  one 
that  would  suit.  While  he  was  sewing  it  on,  he 
said : 

"  Derriblje  news  apout  Gabben  Farnham." 

"  Yes,"  said  Offitt.    "  Is  he  dead  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  off  he  ish  tet.  Dey  say  he  ish  oud 
mid  his  het,  und  tat  looksh  mighty  pad.  But  one 
ting  ish  goot ;  dey  cotch  de  murterer." 

"  They  have  ?"  asked  Offitt,  with  languid  interest. 
"  What  sort  of  fellow  is  he «" 

"Mutter  Gottes!"  said  the  little  German.  "De 
vorst  kind.  He  would  radder  gill  a  man  as  drink  a 
glass  bier.  He  gome  mighty  near  gillin'  his  pest 
vrient  to-day  in  de  gourt-house  droben,  ven  he  vas 
dellin'  vat  he  knowed  apout  it  alleweil." 

"  A  regular  fire-eater,"  said  Offitt.  "  So  you've 
finished,  have  you  ?  How  much  for  the  job  !" 

The  German  was  looking  at  a  stain  on  the  breast 
of  the  coat. 


284  THE   BREAD-WINKERS. 

"Vot's  dish?"  he  said.  " Looksh  like  baint 
Yust  lemme  take  your  coat  off  a  minute  and  I 
gleans  dot  up  like  a  nudel  soup." 

"Say,  mind  your  own  business,  won't  you?" 
growled  Offitt.  "  Here's  your  money,  and  when  I 
want  any  of  your  guff  I'll  let  you  know." 

He  hurried  out,  leaving  the  poor  German  amazed 
at  the  ill  result  of  his  effort  to  turn  an  honest  penny 
and  do  a  fellow-creature  a  service. 

"  Yunny  beebles !"  he  said  to  himself.  "  But  I 
got  a  kevarter  off  a  tollar  for  a  den-cent  chob." 

Offitt  came  out  of  the  shop  and  walked  at  a  rapid 
pace  to  Dean  Street.  He  was  determined  to  make 
an  end  at  once  of  Maud's  scruples  and  coquetry. 
He  said  to  himself :  "  If  we  are  both  alive  to-mor 
row,  we  shall  be  married."  He  believed  if  he  could 
have  her  to  himself  for  half  an  hour,  he  could  per 
suade  her  to  come  with  him.  He  was  busy  all  the 
way  plotting  to  get  her  parents  out  of  the  house. 
It  would  be  easy  enough  to  get  them  out  of  the 
room ;  but  he  wanted  them  out  of  hearing,  out  of 
reach  of  a  cry  for  help  even. 

He  found  them  all  together  in  the  sitting-room. 
The  arrest  of  Sleeny  had  fallen  heavily  upon  them. 
They  had  no  doubt  of  his  guilt,  from  the  reports 
they  had  heard,  and  their  surprise  and  horror  at  his 
crime  were  not  lessened  but  rather  increased  by 
their  familiar  affection  for  him. 

"  To  think,"  said  Saul  to  his  wife,  "  that  that  boy 
has  worked  at  the  same  bench,  and  slept  in  the  same 
house  with  me  for  so  many  years,  and  I  never 
knowed  the  Satan  that  was  in  him  !" 

"  It's  in  all  of  us,  Saul,"  said  Mrs.  Matchin,  try- 


THE    BREAD-WINNERS.  285 

ing  to  improve  the  occasion  for  the  edification  of 
her  unbelieving  husband. 

Maud  had  felt  mingled  with  her  sorrow  a  sus 
picion  of  remorse.  She  could  not  help  remember 
ing  that  Sam  considered  Farnham  his  rival,  with 
how  little  reason  she  knew  better  than  any  one. 
She  could  understand  how  her  beauty  might  have 
driven  him  to  violence ;  but  when  the  story  of  the 
robbery  transpired  also — as  it  did  in  the  course  of 
the  morning, — she  was  greatly  perplexed.  When 
she  joined  in  the  lamentations  of  her  parents  and 
said  she  never  could  have  believed  that  of  Sam 
Sleeny,  she  was  thinking  of  the  theft,  and  not  of 
the  furious  assault.  When  they  had  all,  however, 
exhausted  their  limited  store  of  reflections,  a  thing 
took  place  which  increased  the  horror  and  the  cer 
tainty  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Matchin,  and  left  Maud  a 
prey  to  a  keener  doubt  and  anxiety  than  ever.  Late 
in  the  afternoon  a  sharp-faced  man,  with  a  bright 
eye  and  a  red  mustache,  came  to  the  house  and  de 
manded  in  the  name  of  the  law  to  be  shown  Sam's 
bedroom.  He  made  several  notes  and  picked  up 
some  trifling  articles,  for  which  he  gave  Mr.  Match- 
in  receipts.  Coming  out  of  the  room,  he  looked 
carefully  at  the  door-knob.  "  Seems  all  right,"  he 
said.  Then  turning  to  Matchin,  he  said,  with  pro 
fessional  severity,  "  What  door  did  he  generally 
come  in  by  ?" 

"  Sometimes  one  and  sometimes  another,"  said 
Saul,  determined  not  to  give  any  more  information 
than  he  must. 

«  Well,  I'll  look  at  both,"  the  detective  said. 

The  first  one  stood  his  scrutiny  without  effect, 


286  THE   BREAD-WINKERS. 

but  at  the  second  his  eye  sparkled  and  his  cheek 
flushed  with  pleasure,  when  he  saw  the  faint,  red 
dish-brown  streaks  which  Offitt  had  left  there  the 
night  before.  He  could  not  express  his  exultation ; 
turning  to  Saul,  "  There's  where  he  came  in  last 
night,  any  way." 

"  He  didn't  do  no  such  a  thing,"  replied  Saul. 
"  That  door  I  locked  myself  last  night  before  he 
came  in." 

"  Oh,  you  did  ?  So  you're  sure  he  came  in  at  the 
other  door,  are  you.  We  will  see  if  he  could  get  in 
any  other  way." 

Walking  around  the  corner,  he  saw  the  ladder 
where  Offitt  had  left  it. 

"  Hello  !  that's  his  window,  ain't  it?" 

Without  waiting  for  an  answer  the  detective  ran 
tip  the  ladder,  studying  every  inch  of  its  surface  as 
he  ran.  He  came  down  positively  radiant,  and 
slapped  Saul  heartily  on  the  shoulder. 

"  All  right,  old  man.  I'll  trouble  you  to  keep 
that  ladder  and  that  door  just  as  they  are.  They 
are  important  papers.  Why,  don't  you  see  ?"  he 
continued — "  bless  your  innocent  old  heart,  he  comes 
home  with  his  hands  just  reg'larly  dripping  with 
murder.  He  fumbles  at  that  door,  finds  it  locked, 
and  so  gets  that  ladder,  histes  it  up  to  the  window, 
and  hops  into  bed  as  easy  as  any  Christian  school 
boy  in  town,  and  he  thinks  he's  all  right — but  he 
never  thinks  of  Tony  Smart,  your  humble  servant." 

This  view  of  the  case  was  perfectly  convincing  to 
Saul  and  also  to  his  wife  when  he  repeated  it  at  the 
supper-table ;  but  it  struck  Maud  with  a  sudden  chill. 
She  remembered  that  when  she  had  dismissed  Offitt 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  287 

from  that  midnight  conference  at  her  casement,  he 
had  carefully  taken  the  ladder  away  from  her  win 
dow,  and  had  set  it  against  the  house  some  distance 
off.  She  had  admired  at  the  time  his  considerate 
chivalry,  and  thought  how  nice  it  was  to  have  a 
lover  so  obedient  and  so  careful  of  her  reputation. 
But  now,  the  detective's  ghastly  discovery  turned 
her  thought  in  a  direction  which  appalled  her. 
Could  it  be  possible — and  all  that  money — where 
did  it  come  from  ?  As  she  sat  with  her  parents 
in  the  gathering  darkness,  she  kept  her  dreadful 
anxiety  to  herself.  She  had  been  hoping  all  day 
to  see  her  lover — now  she  feared  to  have  him  come, 
lest  her  new  suspicions  might  be  confirmed.  She 
quickly  resolved  upon  one  thing :  she  would  not  go 
away  with  him  that  night — not  until  this  horrible 
mystery  was  cleared  up.  If  she  was  worth  having 
she  was  worth  waiting  for  a  little  while. 

They  all  three  started  as  the  door  opened  and  Of- 
fitt  came  in.  He  wasted  no  time  in  salutations,  but 
said  at  once,  "  It's  a  funny  thing,  but  I  have  got  a 
message  for  each  of  you.  The  district  attorney  saw 
me  coming  up  this  way,  Mr.  Matchin,  and*  asked  me 
to  tell  you  to  come  down  as  quick  as  you  can  to  his 
office — something  very  important,  he  said.  And, 
stranger  than  that,  I  met  Mr.  Wixham  right  out 
here  by  the  corner,  and  he  asked  ^rne  if  I  was 
comin'  here,  and  if  I  would  ask  you,  Mrs.  Matchin, 
to  come  right  up  to  their  house.  Jurildy  is  sick 
and  wants  to  see  you,  and  he  has  run  off  for  the 
doctor." 

Both  the  old  people  bustled  up  at  this  author! 
tative  summons,  and  Offitt  as  they  went  out  said, 


288  THE  BREAD-WINNERS. 

"  I'll  stay  a  while  and  keep  Miss  Maud  from  gettin' 
lonesome." 

"I  wish  you  would,"  said  Mrs.  Matchin.  "The 
house  seems  creepy-like  with  Sam  where  he  is." 

Maud  felt  her  heart  sink  at  the  prospect  of  being 
left  alone  with  the  man  she  had  been  longing  all 
day  to  see.  She  said,  "  Mother,  I  think  I  ought  to 
go  with  you !" 

"  No,  indeed,"  her  mother  replied.  "  You  ain't 
wanted,  and  it  wouldn't  be  polite  to  Mr.  Offitt." 

The  moment  they  were  gone,  Offitt  sprang  to  the 
side  of  Maud,  and  seized  her  hands. 

"  Now,  my  beauty,  you  will  be  mine.  Put  on 
your  hat  and  we  will  go." 

She  struggled  to  free  her  hands. 

"  Let  go,"  she  said,  "  you  hurt  me.  Why  are  you 
in  such  a  terrible  hurry  ?" 

"  Why  can  you  ask  ?  Your  parents  will  be  back 
in  a  few  minutes.  Of  course  you  know  that  story 
was  only  to  get  them  out  of  our  way.  Come,  my 
beautiful  Maud  !  my  joy,  my  queen  !  To-morrow 
New  York  !  next  day  the  sea,  and  then  Europe  and 
love  and  pleasure  all  your  life." 

"  I  want  to  talk  with  you  a  minute,"  said  Maud, 
in  a  voice  which  trembled  in  spite  of  her  efforts. 
"  I  can't  talk  jn  the  dark.  Wait  here,  till  I  get  a 
lamp." 

She  slipped  from  the  room  before  he  could  pre 
vent  her  and  left  him  pacing  the  floor  in  a  cold  rage. 
It  was  only  a  moment,  however,  until  she  returned, 
bringing  a  lamp,  which  she  placed  on  a  table,  and 
then  asked  him  to  be  seated,  in  a  stiff,  formal  way, 
which  at  once  irritated  and  enchanted  him.  He  sat 


THE  BKEAD-WLNTNERS.  289 

down  and  devoured  her  with  his  eyes.  He  was  an 
gry  when  she  went  for  the  lamp ;  but,  as  its  light 
fell  on  her  rich,  dark  hair,  her  high  color,  and  her 
long,  graceful  figure,  as  she  leaned  back  in  her  chair, 
he  felt  that  the  tenderest  conversation  with  her  in 
the  darkness  would  lose  something  of  the  pleasure 
that  the  eyes  took  in  her.  This  he  said  to  her,  in 
his  coarse  but  effective  way. 

She  answered  him  with  coquettish  grace,  willing 
to  postpone  the  serious  talk  she  dreaded  so.  But 
the  conversation  was  in  stronger  hands  than  hers, 
and  she  found  herself  forced,  in  a  few  minutes,  to 
either  go  with  him,  or  give  a  reason  why. 

"The  fact  is,  then,"  she  stammered,  with  a  great 
effort,  "I  don't  know  you  well  enough  yet.  Why 
cannot  you  wait  a  while  ?"  «, 

He  laughed. 

"  Come  with  me,  and  you  will  know  me  better  in 
a  day  than  you  would  here  in  a  year.  Do  not  waste 
these  precious  moments.  Our  happiness  depends 
upon  it.  We  have  everything  we  can  desire.  I 
cannot  be  myself  here.  I  cannot  disclose  my  rank 
and  my  wealth  to  these  people  who  have  only  known 
me  as  an  apostle  of  labor.  I  want  to  go  where  you 
will  be  a  great  lady.  Oh,  come  !"  he  cried,  with  an 
outburst  of  pent-up  fire,  throwing  himself  on  the 
floor  at  her  feet,  and  laying  his  head  upon  her  knee. 
She  was  so  moved  by  this  sudden  outbreak,  which 
was  wholly  new  to  her  experience,  that  she  almost 
forgot  her  doubts  and  fears.  But  a  remnant  of 
practical  sense  asserted  itself.  She  rose  from  her 
chair,  commanded  him  once  more  to  be  seated,  and 
8aid: 


290  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  am  going  to  offend  you,  but  1 
must  ask  you  something." 

"  Ask  me  anything,"  he  said,  with  a  smile,  "  ex 
cept  to  leave  you." 

She  thought  the  phrase  so  pretty  that  she  could 
hardly  find  courage  to  put  her  question.  She  blushed 
and  stammered,  and  then,  rushing  at  it  with  desper 
ation,  she  said  : 

"  That  money — where  did  you  get  it  ?" 

"  I  will  tell  you  when  we  are  married.  It  is  a 
secret." 

He  tried  still  to  smile,  but  she  saw  the  laughtei 
dying  away  from  his  face. 

Her  blood  turned  cold  in  her  veins,  but  her  heart 
grew  stronger,  and  she  determined  to  know  the 
worst.  She  was  not  a  refined  or  clever  woman  ;  but 
the  depth  of  her  trouble  sharpened  her  wits,  and 
she  instinctively  made  use  of  her  woman's  wiles  to 
extort  the  truth  from  the  man  who  she  knew  was 
under  the  spell  of  her  beauty,  whatever  else  he  was. 

"  Come  here !"  she  said.  Her  face  was  pale,  but 
her  lips  were  smiling.  "  Get  down  there  where  you 
were !"  she  continued,  with  tender  imperiousness. 
He  obeyed  he'r,  hardly  daring  to  trust  his  senses. 
"Now  put  your  hands  between  my  hands,"  she 
said,  still  with  that  pale,  singular  smile,  which  filled 
him  with  unquiet  transports,  "  and  tell  me  the  truth, 
you  bad  boy !" 

"  The  truth,"  with  a  beating  of  the  heart  which 
made  his  utterance  thick,  "  the  truth  is,  that  you  are 
the  most  glorious  woman  in  the  world,  and  that  you 
will  be  mine  to-morrow." 

"  Perhaps,"    she  almost  whispered.     "  But  you 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  291 

must  tell  me  something  else.  I  am  afraid  you  are 
a  naughty  boy,  and  that  you  love  me  too  much.  I 
once  told  you  I  had  an  enemy,  and  that  I  wanted 
somebody  to  punish  him.  Did  you  go  and  punish 
him  for  me — tell  me  that  ?" 

Her  voice  was  soft  and  low  and  beguiling.  She 
still  smiled  on  him,  leaving  one  hand  in  his,  while 
she  raised  the  forefinger  of  the  other  in  coquettish 
admonition.  The  ruffian  at  her  feet  was  inebriated 
with  her  beauty  and  her  seductive  playfulness.  He 
thought  she  had  divined  his  act — that  she  considered 
it  a  fine  and  heroic  test  of  love  to  which  she  had  sub 
jected  him.  He  did  not  hesitate  an  instant,  but  said : 
"  Yes,  my  beauty,  and  I  am  ready  to  do  the  same 
for  anybody  who  gives  you  a  cross  look." 

Now  that  she  had  gained  the  terrible  truth,  a 
sickening  physical  fear  of  the  man  came  over  her, 
and  she  felt  herself  growing  faint.  His  voice 
sounded  weak  and  distant  as  he  said : 

"  Now  you  will  go  with  me,  won't  you  ?" 
She  could  make  no  answer.     So  he  continued  : 
"  Eun  and  get  your  hat.     Nothing  else.    We  can 
buy  all  you  want.     And  hurry.     They  may  come 
back  any  moment." 

She  perceived  a  chance  of  escape  and  roused  her 
self.     She  thought  if  she  could  only  get  out  of  the 
room  she  might  save  herself  by  flight  or  by  outcry. 
"  Wait  here,"  she  whispered,  "  and  be  very  quiet." 
He  kissed  his  fingers  to  her  without  a  word.    She 
opened  the  door  into  the  next  room,  which  was  the 
kitchen  and  dining-room  of  the  family,  and  there, 
not  three  feet  from  her,  in  the  dim  light,  haggard 
and  wan,  bareheaded,  his  clothes  in  rags  about  him, 
she  saw  Sam  Sleeny. 


292  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 


XIX. 

A    LEAP   FOR    SOMEBODY'S    LIFE. 

WHEN  Sleeny  was  led  from  the  room  of  the 
police  justice  in  the  afternoon,  he  was  plunged  in 
a  sort  of  stupor.  He  could  not  recover  from  the 
surprise  and  sense  of  outrage  with  which  he  had 
listened  to  Offitt's  story.  What  was  to  happen  to 
him  he  accepted  with  a  despair  which  did  not  trouble 
itself  about  the  ethics  of  the  transaction.  It  was 
a  disaster,  as  a  stroke  of  lightning  might  be.  It 
seemed  to  him  the  work  had  been  thoroughly  and 
effectually  done.  He  could  see  no  way  out  of  it ;  in 
fact,  his  respect  for  Offitt's  intelligence  was  so  great 
that  he  took  it  for  granted  Andy  had  committed  no 
mistakes,  but  that  he  had  made  sure  of  his  ruin. 
He  must  go  to  prison ;  -if  Farnham  died,  he  must 
be  hanged.  He  did  not  weary  his  mind  in  planning 
for  his  defence  when  his  trial  should  come  on.  He 
took  it  for  granted  he  should  be  convicted.  But  if 
he  could  get  out  of  prison,  even  if  it  were  only  for 
a  few  hours,  and  see  Andy  Offitt  once  more — he 
felt  the  blood  tingling  through  all  his  veins  at  the 
thought.  This  roused  him  from  his  lethargy  and 
made  him  observant  and  alert.  He  began  to  com 
plain  of  his  handcuffs ;  they  were  in  truth  galling 
his  wrists.  It  was  not  difficult  for  him  to  twist  his 
hands  so  as  to  start  the  blood  in  one  or  two  places. 
He  showed  these  quietly  to  the  policemen,  who  sat 


THE  BKBAD-WINNBBS.  293 

/ 

with  him  in  a  small  anteroom  leading  to  the  portion 
of  the  city  jail,  where  he  was  to  be  confined  for  the 
night.  He  seemed  so  peaceable  and  quiet  that  they 
took  off  the  irons,  saying  good-naturedly,  "  I  guess 
we  can  handle  you."  They  were  detained  in  this 
room  for  some  time  waiting  for  the  warden  of  the 
jail  to  come  and  receive  their  prisoner.  There  were 
two  windows,  both  giving  view  of  a  narrow  street, 
where  it  was  not  bright  at  noonday,  and  began  to 
grow  dark  at  sunset  with  the  shade  of  the  high 
houses  and  the  thick  smoke  of  the  quarter.  The 
windows  were  open,  as  the  room  was  in  the  third 
story,  and  was  therefore  considered  absolutely  safe. 
Sleeny  got  up  several  times  and  walked  first  to 
one  window  and  then  to  another,  casting  quick  but 
searching  glances  at  the  street  and  the  walls.  He 
saw  that  some  five  feet  from  one  of  the  windows  a 
tin  pipe  ran  along  the  wall  to  the  ground.  The 
chances  were  ten  to  one  that  any  one  risking  the 
leap  would  be  dashed  to  pieces  on  the  pavement  be 
low.  But  Sleeny  could  not  get  that  pipe  out  of  his 
head.  "I  might  as  well  take  my  chance"  he  said 
to  himself.  "  It  would  be  na  worse  to  die  that  way 
than  to  be  hanged."  He  'grew  afraid  to  trust  him 
self  in  sight  of  the  win  do  w*  and  the  pipe:  it  exer 
cised  so  strong  a  fascination  -upon  him.  He  sat  down 
with  his  back  to  the  light  and  leaned  his  head  on  his 
hands.  But  he  could  think  of  nothing  but  his  leap 
for  liberty.  He  felt  in  fancy  his  hands  and  knees 
clasping  that  slender  ladder  of  safety ;  he  began  to 
think  what  he  would  do  when  he  struck  the  side 
walk,  if  no  bones  were  broken.  First,  he  would 
hide  from  pursuit,  if  possible.  Then  he  would  go 


294  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

to  Dean  Street  and  get  a  last  look  at  Maud,  if  he 
could ;  then  his  business  would  be  to  find  Offitt. 
"  If  I  find  him,"  he  thought,  "  I'll  give  them  some 
thing  to  try  me  for."  But  finally  he  dismissed  the 
matter  from  his  mind, — for  this  reason.  He  re 
membered  seeing  a  friend,  the  year  before,  fall  from 
a  scaffolding  and  break  his  leg.  The  broken  bone 
pierced  through  the  leg  of  his  trousers.  This 
thought  daunted  him  more  than  death  on  the  gal 
lows. 

The  door  opened,  and  three  or  four  policemen 
came  in,  each  leading  a  man  by  the  collar,  the  ordi 
nary  riffraff  of  the  street,  charged  with  petty  offen 
ces.  One  was  very  drunk  and  abusive.  He  attracted 
the  attention  of  everybody  in  the  room  by  his  antics. 
He  insisted  on  dancing  a  breakdown  which  he  called 
the  "Essence  of  Jeems'  River";  and  in  the  scuffle 
which  followed,  first  one  and  then  the  other  police 
man  in  charge  of  Sleeny  became  involved.  Sleeny 
was  standing  with  his  back  to  the  window,  quite 
alone.  The  temptation  was  too  much  for  him.  He 
leaped  upon  the  sill,  gave  one  mighty  spring,  caught 
the  pipe,  and  slid  safely  to  the  ground.  One  or  two 
passers-by  saw  him  drop  lightly  to  the  sidewalk,  but 
thought  nothing  of  it.%  It  was  not  the  part  of  the 
jail  in  which  prisoner^  were  confined,  and  he  might 
have  been  taken  fo"r  a  carpenter  or  plumber  who 
chose  that  unusual  way  of  coming  from  the  roof. 
His  hat  blew  off  in  his  descent,  but  he  did  not  waste 
time  in  looking  for  it.  He  walked  slowly  till  he 
got  to  the  corner,  and  then  plunged  through  the 
dark  and  ill-smelling  streets  of  the  poor  and  crowd 
ed  qpavter,  till  he  came  by  the  open  gate  of  a  coal- 


THE  BREAD-WINKERS.  295 

yard.  Seeing  lie  was  not  pursued  he  went  in,  con 
cealed  himself  behind  a  pile  of  boards  and  lay  there 
until  it  was  quite  dark. 

He  then  came  out  and  walked  through  round 
about  ways,  avoiding  the  gas-lights  and  the  broad 
thoroughfares,  to  Dean  Street.  He  climbed  the 
fence  and  crept  through  the  garden  to  the  back  door 
of  the  house.  He  had  eaten  nothing  since  early 
morning,  and  was  beginning  to  be  hungry.  He  saw 
there  were  no  lights  in  the  rear  of  the  house,  and 
thought  if  he  could  enter  the  kitchen  he  might  get 
a  loaf  of  bread  without  alarming  the  household. 
He  tried  the  back  door  and  found  it  fastened.  But 
knowing  the  ways  of  the  house,  he  raised  the  cellar 
door,  went  down  the  steps,  shut  the  door  down  upon 
himself,  groped  his  way  to  the  inner  stairs,  and  so 
gained  the  kitchen.  He  was  walking  to  the  cup 
board  when  the  door  opened  and  he  saw  Maud 
coming  toward  him. 

She  did  not  seem  in  the  least  startled  to  see  him 
there.  In  the  extremity  of  her  terror,,  it  may  have 
seemed  to  her  that  he  had  been  sent  especially  to 
her  help.  She  walked  up  to  him,  laid  her  hands  on 
his  shoulders  and  whispered,  "  Oh,  Sam,  I  am  so 
glad  to  see  you.  Save  me !  Don't  let  him  touch 
me !  He  is  in  there." 

Sam  hardly  knew  if  this  were  real  or  not.  A 
wild  fancy  assailed  him  for  an  instant — was  he  killed 
in  jumping  from  the  window  ?  Surely  this  could 
never  happen  to  him  on  the  earth  ;  the  girl  who  had 
always  been  so  cold  and  proud  to  him  was  in  his  arms, 
her  head  on  his  shoulder,  her  warm  breath  on  his 
cheek.  She  was  asking  his  help  against  some  danger. 


296  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

"All  right,  Mattie,"  he  whispered.  "Nobody 
shall  hurt  you.  Who  is  it  ?"  He  thought  of  no 
one  but  the  police. 

"  Offitt,"  she  said. 

He  brushed  her  aside  as  if  she  had  been  a  cobweb 
in  his  path,  and  with  a  wild  cry  of  joy  and  ven 
geance  he  burst  through  the  half  -open  door.  Offitt 
turned  at  the  noise,  and  saw  Sam  coming,  and  knew 
that  the  end  of  his  life  was  there.  His  heart  was 
like  water  within  him.  He  made  a  feeble  effort  at 
defence  ;  but  the  carpenter,  without  a  word,  threw 
him  on  the  floor,  planted  one  knee  on  his  chest,  and 
with  his  bare  hands  made  good  the  threat  he  uttered 
in  his  agony  in  the  court-room,  twisting  and  break 
ing  his  neck. 

Sleeny  rose,  pulled  the  cover  from  the  centre- 
table  in  the  room,  and  threw  it  over  the  distorted 
face  of  the  dead  man. 

Maud,  driven  out  of  her  wits  by  the  dreadful 
scene,  had  sunk  in  a  rocking-chair,  where,  with  her 
face  in  her  hands,  she  was  sobbing  and  moaning. 
Sam  tried  to  get  her  to  listen  to  him. 

"  Good-by,  Mattie,  I  shall  never  see  you  again,  I 
suppose.  I  must  run  for  my  life.  I  want  you  to 
know  I  was  innocent  of  what  they  charged  me 


"  Oh,  I  know  that,  Sam,"  she  sobbed. 

"  God  bless  you,  Mattie,  for  saying  so.  I  don't 
care  sb  much  for  what  happens,  now.  I  am  right 
glad  I  got  here  to  save  you  from  that  -  "  he 
paused,  searching  for  a  word  which  would  be  de 
scriptive  and  yet  not  improper  in  the  presence  of  a 
but  his  vocabulary  was  not  rich  and  he  said  at 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  297 

last,  "  that  snide.  But  I  should  have  done  that  to 
him  anyhow ;  so  don't  cry  on  that  account.  Mattie, 
will  you  tell  me  good-by?"  he  asked  with  bashful 
timidity. 

She  rose  and  gave  him  her  hand ;  but  her  ejes 
happening  to  wander  to  the  shapeless  form  lying  in 
the  corner,  she  hid  her  face  again  on  his  shoulder 
and  said  with  a  fresh  burst  of  tears.  "  Oh,  Sam, 
stay  with  me  a  little  while.  Don't  leave  me  alone." 

His  mind  travelled  rapidly  through  the  incidents 
that  would  result  from  his  staying — prison,  trial, 
and  a  darker  contingency  still,  rearing  its  horrible 
phantom  in  the  distance.  But  she  said,  "  You  will 
stay  till  father  comes,  won't  you  \"  and  he  answered 
simply : 

"  Yes,  Mattie,  if  you  want  me  to." 

He  led  her  to  a  seat  and  sat  down  Reside  her,  to 
wait  for  his  doom. 

In  a  few  minutes,  they  heard  a  loud  altercation 
outside  the  door.  The  voice  of  Saul  Matchin  was 
vehemently  protesting,  "  I  tell  ye  he  ain't  here,"  and 
another  voice  responded, 

"He  was  seen  to  climb  the  fence  and  to  enter 
the  house.  We've  got  it  surrounded,  and  there's  no 
Use  for  you  to  get  yourself  into  trouble  aidin'  and 
abettin'." 

Sam  walked  to  the  door  and  said  to  the  police 
man,  with  grim  humor,  "  Come  in !  you'll  find  two 
murderers  here,  and  neither  one  will  show  any 
fight" 

The  policemen  blew  their  whistles  to  assemble 
the  rest,  and  then  came  in  warily,  and  two  of  them 
seized  him  at  once. 


298  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

"  It's  all  very  well  to  be  meek  and  lowly,  my 
friend,"  said  one  of  them,  "  but  you'll  not  play  that 
on  us  twice — least  ways,"  he  added  with  sarcastic 
intention,  "  not  twice  the  same  day.  See  here,  Tony 
Smart,"  addressing  a  third,  who  now  entered,  "  lend 
a  hand  with  these  bracelets,"  and  in  a  moment  Sam 
was  handcuffed  and  pinioned. 

"  Where's  the  other  one  you  was  talking  about  ?" 
asked  the  policeman. 

Sam  pointed  with  his  foot  in  the  direction  where 
Offitt  lay.  The  policeman  lifted  the  cloth,  and 
dropped  it  again  with  a  horror  which  his  profes 
sional  phlegm  could  not  wholly  disguise. 

"Well,  of  all  the  owdacious  villains  ever  I 
struck  -  —  Who  do  you  think  it  is  ?"  he  asked, 
turning  to  his  associates. 

"  Who  ?" 

"  The  witness  this  afternoon, — Offitt.  Well,  my 
man,"  he  said,  turning  to  Sam,  "you  wanted  to 
make  a  sure  thing  of  it,  I  see.  If  you  couldn't  be 
hung  for  one,  you  would  for  the  other." 

"  Sam !"  said  Saul  Matchin  who,  pale  and  trem 
bling,  had  been  a  silent  spectator  of  the  scene  so  far, 
"  for  heaven's  sake,  tell  us  what  all  this  means." 

"  Mind  now,"  said  the  officer,  "  whatever  you  say 
will  be  reported." 

"  Very  well,  I've  got  nothing  to  hide,"  said  Sam. 
"  I'll  tell  you  and  Mother  Matchin"  (who  had  just 
come  in  and  was  staring  about  her  with  consterna 
tion,  questioning  Maud  in  dumb  show)  "  the  whole 
Btory.  I  owe  that  to  you  for  you've  always  used 
me  well.  It's  a  mighty  short  one.  That  fellow 
Offitt  robbed  and  tried  to  murder  Captain  Farnham 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  299 

last  night,  and  then  swore  it  onto  me.  I  got  away 
from  the  officers  to-night,  and  come  round  here 
and  found  him  faulting  Mattie,  and  I  twisted  his 
neck  for  him.  If  it's  a  hanging  matter  to  kill 
snakes,  I'll  have  to  stand  it — that's  all." 

"  Now,  who  do  you  think  is  going  to  believe 
that  ?"  said  the  captain  of  the  squad. 

Maud  rose  and  walked  up  to  where  Sam  was 
standing  and  said,  "  I  know  every  word  he  has  said 
is  true.  That  man  was  the  burglar  at  Captain  Farn- 
ham's.  He  told  me  so  himself  to-night.  He  said 
he  had  the  money  in  his  pocket  and  wanted  to  make 
me  go  with  him." 

She  spoke  firmly  and  resolutely,  but  she  could 
not  bring  herself  to  say  anything  of  previous 
passages  between  them ;  and  when  she  opened  her 
lips  to  speak  of  the  ladder,  the  woman  was  too 
strong  within  her,  and  she  closed  them  again.  "  I'll 
never  tell  that  unless  they  go  to  hang  Sam,  and  then 
I  won't  tell  anybody  but  the  GovernoK^'  she  swore 
to  herself. 

"  It's  easy  to  see  about  that  story,"  said  the  officer 
still  incredulous. 

They  searched  the  clothing  of  Offitt,  and  the  face 
of  the  officer,  as  one  package  of  money  after  another 
was  brought  to  light,  was  a  singular  study.  The 
pleasure  he  felt  in  the  recovery  of  the  stolen  goods 
was  hardly  equal  to  his  professional  chagrin  at 
having  caught  the  wrong  man.  He  stood  for  a 
moment  silent,  after  tying  up  all  the  packages  in 
one. 

"  It's  no  use  dodging,"  he  said  at  last.  "  We  havg 
been  barking  up  the  wrong  tree." 


• 

300  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  said  the  one  called 
Tony  Smart.  "  Who  has  identified  this  money  ? 
Who  can  answer  for  this  young  lady  ?  How  about 
them  marks  on  the  door  and  the  ladder  ?  Anyhow 
there's  enough  to  hold  our  prisoner  on." 

"  Of  course  there  is,"  said  the  captain.  "  He 
hadn't  authority  to  go  twisting  people's  necks  in 
this  county." 

At  this  moment  the  wagon  which  had  been  "sent 
for  arrived.  The  body  of  Offitt  was  lifted  in.  The 
captain  gathered  up  the  money,  notified  Matchin 
that  he  and  his  family  would  be  wanted  as  witnesses 
in  the  morning,  and  they  all  moved  toward  the  door. 
Sam  turned  to  say  "Farewell."  Pinioned  as  he 
was,  he  could  not  shake  hands,  and  his  voice  faltered 
as  he  took  leave  of  them.  Maud's  heart  was  not 
the  most  feeling  one  in  the  world,  but  her  emotions 
had  been  deeply  stirred  by  the  swift  succession  of 
events ;  and  as  she  saw  this  young  fellow  going  so 
bravely  to  meet  an  unknown  fate,  purely  for  her 
sake,  the  tears  came  to  her  eyes.  She  put  out  her 
hand  to  him;  but  she  saw  that  his  hands  were 
fastened  and,  seized  with  sudden  pity,  she  put  her 
arms  about  his  neck  and  kissed  him,  whispering, 
"  Keep  up  a,  good  heart,  Sam !"  and  he  went  away, 
in  all  his  danger  and  ignominy  happier  than  he  had 
been  for  many  a  day. 

The  probabilities  of  the  case  were  much  discussed 
that  night  at  police  head-quarters,  in  conferences 
from  which  the,  reporters  were  rigorously  excluded, 
and  the  next  morning  the  city  newspapers  revelled 
in  the  sensation.  They  vied  with  each  other  in  in 
venting  attractive  head-lines  and  startling  theories, 


THE   BREAD-WItftfERS.  301 

The  Bale-Fire  began  its  leader  with  the  impressive 
sentence :  "  Has  a  carnival  of  crime  set  in  amongst 
us  ?  Last  night  the  drama  of  Algonquin  Avenue 
was  supplemented  by  the  tragedy  of  Dean  Street, 
and  the  public,  aghast,  demands  <  What  next  ? '  A 
second  murder  was  accomplished  by  hands  yet  drip 
ping  with  a  previous  crime.  The  patriotic  witness 
who,  yesterday,  with  a  bleeding  heart,  denounced 
the  criminality  of  his  friend,  pciid  last  night  with 
his  life  for  his  fidelity."  In  another  column  it 
called  for  a  "  monument,  by  popular  subscription, 
for  Andrew  Jackson  Offitt,  who  died  because  he 
would  not  tell  a  lie."  On  the  other  hand,  The  Morn- 
ing  Astral,  representing  the  conservative  opinion 
of  the  city,  called  for,  a  suspension  of  judgment  on 
the  part  of  its  candidl  readers  ;  said  that  there  were 
shady  circumstances  about  the  antecedents  of  Offitt, 
and  intimated  that  documents  of  a  compromising 
character  had  been  found  on  his  person  ;  congratu 
lated  the  city  on  the  .improved  condition  of  Captain 
Farnham ;  and,  trusting  in  the  sagacity  and  diligence 
of  the  authorities,  confidently  awaited  from  them  a 
solution  of  the  mystery.  Each  of  them,  neverthe 
less,  gave  free  space  and  license  to  their  reporters, 
•and  Offitt  was  a  saint,  a  miscreant,  a  disguised 
prince,  and  an  escaped  convict,  according  to  the  state 
of  the  reporter's  imagination  or  his  digestion  ;  while 
the  stories  told  of  nSleeny  varied  from  cannibalism 
to  feats  of  herculean  goodness.  They  all  agreed 
reasonably  well,  however,  as  to  the  personal  appear 
ance  of  the  two  men,  and  from  this  fact  it  came 
about  that,  in  the  course  of  the  morning,  evidence 
was  brought  forward,  from  a  totally  unexpected 


802  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

quarter,  which  settled  the  question  as  to  the  burg- 
lury  at  Farnham's. 

Mrs.  Belding  had  been  so  busy  the  day  before,  in 
her  constant  attendance  upon  Farnham,  that  she  had 
paid  no  attention  to  the  story  of  the  arrest.  She 
had  heard  that  the  man  had  been  caught  and  his 
crime  clearly  established,  and  that  he  had  been  sent 
to  jail  for  trial.  Her  first  thought  was,  "  I  am  glad 
I  was  not  called  upon  to  give  evidence.  It  would 
have  been  very  disagreeable  to  get  up  before  a 
court-room  full  of  men  and  say  I  looked  with  an 
opera-glass  out  of  my  daughter's  window  into  a 
young  man's  house.  I  should  have  to  mention 
Alice's  name,  too, — and  a  young  girl's  name  cannot 
be  mentioned  too  seldom  in  the  newspapers.  In 
fact,  twice  in  a  life-time  is  often  enough,  and  one 
of  them  should  be  a  funeral  notice." 

But  this  morning,  after  calling  at  Farnham's  and 
finding  that  he  was  getting  on  comfortably,  she  sat 
down  to  read  the  newspapers.  Alice  was  sitting 
near  her,  with  hands  and  lap  full  of  some  fem 
inine  handiwork.  A  happy  smile  played*  about 
her  lips,  for  her  mother  had  just  repeated*  to  her 
the  surgeon's  prediction  that  Captain  Farnham 
would  be  well  in  a  week  or  two.  "He  said  the 
scalp  wound  was  healing  (  by  the^  first  intention,' 
which  I  thought  was  a  funny  phrase.  I  thought 
the  maxim  was  that  second  thpughts  were  best." 
Alice  had  never  mentioned  Farnham's  name  since 
the  first  night,  but  he  was  rarely  out  of  her  mind, 
and  the  thought  that  his  life  was  saved  made  every 
hour  bright  and  festal.  "  He  will  be  well,"  she 
thought.  "  He  will  have  to  come ,  here  to  thank 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  303 

mamma  for  her  care  of  him.  I  shall  see  him  again 
and  he  shall  not  complain  of  me.  If  he  should 
never  speak  to  me  again,  I  shall  love  him  and  be 
good  to  him  always."  She  was  yet  too  young  and  too 
innocent  to  know  how  impossible  was  the  scheme  of 
life  she  was  proposing  to  herself,  but  she  was  thor 
oughly  happy  in  it. 

Mrs.  Belding,  as  she  read,  grew  perplexed  and 
troubled.  She  threw  down  one  newspaper  and  took 
up  another,  but  evidently  got  no  more  comfort  out 
of  that.  At  last  she  sighed  and  said,  "  Oh,  dear ! 
Oh,  dear !  I  shall  have  to  go  down  there  after  all. 
They  have  got  the  wrong  man  1" 

Alice  looked  up  with  wondering  eyes. 

"  These  accounts  all  agree  that'  the  assassin  is  a 
tall,  powerful  young  man,  with  yellow  hair  and 
beard.  The  real  man  was  not  more  than  medium 
height,  very  dark.  Why,  he  was  black  and  shiny 
as  a  cricket.  I  must  go  and  tell  them.  I  wonder 
who  the  lawyer  is  that  does  the  indicting  of  people  ?" 

"It  must  be  the  prosecuting  attorney,  Mr.  Dai- 
ton,"  said  Alice.  "  I  heard  he  was  elected  this 
spring.  You  know  him  very  well.  You  meet  him 
everywhere." 

"  That  elegant  young  fellow  who  leads  germans  ? 
Well,  if  that  is  not  too  absurd ! .  I  never  should 
have  thought  of  him,  outside  of  a  dress-coat.  I 
don't  mind  a  bit  going  to  see  him.  Order  the  car 
riage,  while  I  get  my  things  on." 

She  drove  down  to  the  City  Hall,  and  greatly  as 
tonished  Mr.  Dalton  by  walking  into*-his  office  and 
requesting  a  moment's  private  conversation  with 
him.  Dalton  was  a  dapper  young  man,  exceedingly 


304  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

glib  and  well  dressed,  making  his  way  in  political 
and  official,  as  he  had  already  made  it  in  social  life. 
He  greeted  Mrs.  Belding  with  effusion,  and  was 
anxious  to  know  how  he  might  serve  her,  having 
first  cleared  the  room  of  the  half-dozen  politicians 
-who  did  their  lounging  there. 

"  It  is  a  most  delicate  matter  for  a  lady  to  appear 
in,  and  I  must  ask  you  to  keep  my  name  as  much  in 
reserve  as  possible." 

"Of  course,  you  may  count  upon  me,"  he 
answered,  wondering  where  this  strange  exordium 
would  lead  to. 

"  You  .have  got  the  wrong  man. '  I  am  sure  of  it. 
It  was  not  the  blonde  one.  He  was  black  as  a 
cricket.  I  saw  him  as  plainly  as  I  se*e  you.  You 
know  we  live  next  door  to  Captain  Farn- 
ham » 

"  Ah !"  Dalton  cried.  "  Certainly.  I  understand. 
This  is  most  important.  Pray  go  on." 

With  a  few  interruptions  from  him,  full  of  tact 
and  intelligence,  she  told  the  whole  story,  or  as 
much  of  it  as  was  required.  She  did  not  have  to 
mention  Alice's  name,  or  the  opera-glass;  though 
the  clever  young  man  said  to  himself,  "She  is 
either  growing  very  far-sighted,  or  she  was  scouring 
the  heavens  with  a  field-glass  that  night — perhaps 
looking  for  comets." 

He  rang  his  bell  and  gave  a  message  to  an  usher 
who  appeared.  "  I  will  not  ask  you  to  wait  long," 
he  said,  and  turned  the  conversation  upon  the 
weather  and  social  prospects  for  the  season.  In  a 
few  minutes  the  door  opened,  and  Sleeny  was 
brought  into  the  room  by  an  officer.  » 


THE    BREAD-WINNERS.  305 

"  "Was  this  the  man  you  saw,  Mrs.  Belding  ?" 
asked  Dalton. 

"Not  the  slightest  resemblance.  This  one  is 
much  taller,  and  entirely  different  in  color." 

"  That  will  do"  ;  and  Sleeny  and  the  officer  went 
out. 

"  Now  may  I  ask  you  to  do  a  very  disagreeable 
thing  ?  To  go  with  me  to  the  Morgue  and  see  the 
remains  of  what  I  am  now  sure  is  the  real  criminal  ?" 
Dalton  asked. 

"Oh,  mercy!  I  would  rather  not.  Is  it  neces 
sary?" 

"  Not  positively  necessary,  but  it  will  enable  me 
to  dismiss  the  burglary  case  absolutely  against  young 
Sleeny." 

"  Yery  well.  I'll  go.  I  am  so  glad,"  she  said  to 
herself,  "  that  I  did  not  bring  Alice." 

They  went  in  her  carriage  to  the  Morgue.  Dal 
ton  said,  "I  want  to  make  it  as  easy  as  I  can  for 
you.  Please  wait  a  moment  in  your  carriage."  He 
went  in  and  arranged  that  the  face  of  Offitt,  which 
was  horrible,  should  be  turned  away  as  much  as 
possible ;  the  head,  and  shoulders  and  back  being 
left  exposed,  and  the  hat  placed  on  the  head.  He 
then  brought  Mrs.  Belding  in. 

''That  is  the  man,"  she  said,  promptly,  "or  at 
least  some  one  exactly  like  him." 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said,  reconducting  her  to  her 
carriage.  "  The  first  charge  against  Sleeny  will  be 
dismissed,  though  of  course  he  must  be  held  for  this 
homicide." 

A  FEW  weeks  later  Sleeny  was  tried  for  the  killing 
20 


306  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

of  Offitt,  on  which  occasion  most  of  the  facts  of  this 
history  were  given  in  evidence.  Mrs.  Eelding  had 
at  last  to  tell  what  she  knew  in  open  court,  and  she 
had  an  evil  quarter  of  an  hour  in  the  hands  of  Mr. 
Dalton,  who  seemed  always  on  the  point  of  asking 
some  question  which  would  bring  her  opera-glass 
into  the  newspapers ;  but  he  never  proceeded  to 
that  extremity,  and  she  came  away  with  a  better 
opinion  of  the  profession  than  she  had  ever  before 
entertained.  "  I  suppose  leading  germane  human 
izes  even  a  lawyer  somewhat,"  she  observed,  philo 
sophically. 

Maud  Matchin  was,  however,  the  most  important 
witness  for  the  defence.  She  went  upon  the  stand 
troubled  with  no  abstract  principles  in  regard  to  the 
administration  of  justice.  She  wanted  Sam  Sleeny 
to  be  set  free,  and  she  testified  with  an  «ye  single  to 
that  purpose.  She  was  perhaps  a  trifle  too  zealous 
' — even  the  attorney  for  the  defence  tit  his  lip  oc 
casionally  at  her  dashing  introduction  of  wholly  ir 
relevant  matter  in  Sleeny's  favor.  But  she  was 
throughout  true  to  herself  also,  atifl  never  gave  the 
least  intimation  that  Offitt  had  any  right  to  consider 
himself  a  favored  suitor.  Perhaps  she  had  attained 
the  talent,  so  common  in  more  sophisticated  circles 
than  any  with  which  she  was  familiar,  of  forgetting 
all  entanglements  which  it  is  not  convenient  to  re 
member,  and  of  facing  a  discarded  lover  with  a  vis 
age  of  insolent  unconcern  and  a  heart  unstirred  by  a 
memory. 

The  result  of  it  all  was,  of  course,  that  Sleeny  was 
acquitted,  though  it  came  about  in  a  way  which  may 
be  worth  recording.  The  iury  found  a  verdict  of 


THE   BREAD-WINKERS.  307 

"justifiable  homicide,"  upon  which  the  judge  very 
properly  sent  them  back  to  their  room,  as  the  ver 
dict  was  flatly  against  the  law  and  the  evidence. 
They  retired  again,  with  stolid  and  unabashed  pa 
tience,  and  soon  reappeared  with  a  verdict  of  acquit-; 
tal,  on  the  ground  of  "  emotional  insanity."  But 
this  remarkable  jury  determined  to  do  nothing  by 
halves,  and  fearing  that  the  reputation  of  being 
queer  might  injure  Sam  in  his  business  prospects, 
added  to  their  verdict  these  thoughtful  and  consid 
erate  words,  which  yet  remain  on  the  record,  to  the 
lasting  honor  and  glory  of  our  system  of  trial  by 


"  And  we  hereby  state  that  the  prisoner  was  per 
fectly  sane  up  to  the  moment  he  committed  the 
rash  act  in  question,  and  perfectly  sane  the  moment 
after,  and  that,  in  our  opinion,  there  is  no  probabil 
ity  that  the  malady  will  ever  recur." 

After  this  memorable  deliverance,  Sam  shook 
hands  cordially  and  gravely  with  each  of  the  judi 
cious  jurymen,  and  then  turned  to  where  Maud  was 
waiting  for  him,  with  a  rosy  and  happy  face  and  a 
sparkling  eye.  They  walked  slowly  homeward  to 
gether  through  the  falling  shadows. 

Their  lives  were  henceforth  bound  together  for  \ 
good  or  evil.     We  may  not  say  how  much  of  good  • 
or  how  much  of  evil  was  to  be  expected  from  a  j  , 
wedlock  between  two  natures  so  ill-regulated  and 
untrained,  where  the  woman  brought  into  the  part 
nership  the  wreck  of  ignoble  ambitions  and  the  man  * 
the  memory  of  a  crime. 


308  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 


XX. 

"NOW,  DO  YOU  REMEMBER?" 

FARNHAM'S  convalescence  was  rapid,  "When  the 
first  danger  of  fever  was  over,  the  wound  on  the 
head  healed  quickly,  and  one  morning  Mrs.  Belding 
came  home  with  the  news  that  he  was  to  drive  out 
that  afternoon.  Alice  sat  in  Jie  shade  by  the  front 
porch  for  an  hour,  waiting  Lo  see  him  pass,  and 
when  at  last  his  carriage  appeared,  she  rose  and 
waved  her  handkerchief  by  way  of  greeting  and 
congratulation.  He  bowed  as  he  went  by,  and 
Alice  retired  to  her  own  room,  where  she  used  her 
handkerchief  once  more  to  dry  her  wet  and  happy 
eyes. 

It  was  not  long  after,  that  Farnham  came  to  dine 
with  them.  They  both  looked  forward  to  this  din 
ner  as  an  occasion  of  very  considerable  importance. 
Each  felt  that  much  depended  upon  the  demeanor  of 
the  other.  Each  was  conscientiously  resolved  to  do 
and  to  say  nothing  which  should  pain  or  embarrass 
the  other.  Each  was  dying  to  fall  into  the  other's 
arms,  but  each  only  succeeded  in  convincing  the 
other  of  his  or  her  entire  indifference  and  friend 
ship. 

As  Farnham  came  in,  Mrs.  Belding  went  up  to 
him  with  simple  kindliness,  kissed  him,  and  made 
him  sit  down.  "  You  dear  boy,"  she  said,  "  you  do 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  309 

not  know  how  glad  I  am  to  see  you  here  once 
more." 

Alice  looked  on,  almost  jealous  of  her  mother's 
privilege.  Then  she  advanced  with  shy  grace  and 
took  Arthur's  hand,  and  asked :  "  Do  you  begin  to 
feel  quite  strong  again  ?" 

Farnham  smiled,  and  answered,  "Quite  well, 
and  the  strength  will  soon  come.  The  first  symp 
tom  of  returning  vitality,  Mrs.  Belding,  was  my 
hostility  to  gruel  and  other  phantom  dishes.  1 
have  deliberately  come  to  dinner  to-day  to  dine." 

"  I  am  delighted  to  hear  of  your  appetite,"  said 
Mrs.  Belding ;  "  but  I  think  you  may  bear  a  little 
watching  at  the  table  yet,"  she  added,  in  a  tone  of 
kindly  menace.  She  was  as  good  as  her  word,  and 
exercised  rather  a  stricter  discipline  at  dinner  than 
was  agreeable  to  the  convalescent,  regulating  his 
meat  and  wine  according  to  ladylike  ideas,  which 
are  somewhat  binding  on  carnivorous  man.  But1  she 
was  so  kindly  about  it,  and  Alice  aided  and  abetted 
with  such  bashful  prettiness,  that  Farnham  felt  he 
could  endure  starvation  with  such  accessories.  Yet 
he  was  not  wholly  at  ease.  He  had  hoped,  in  the 
long  hours  of  his  confinement,  to  find  the  lady  of 
his  love  kinder  in  voice  and  manner  than  when  he 
saw  her  last ;  and  now,  when  she  was  sweeter  arid 
more  tender  than  he  had  ever  seen  her  before,  the 
self-tormenting  mind  of  the  lover  began  to  suggest 
that  if  she  loved  him  she  would  not  be  so  kind. 
He  listened  to  the  soft,  caressing  tones  of  her  voice 
as  she  spoke  to  him,  which  seemed  to'  convey  a 
blessing  in  every  syllable ;  he  met  the  wide,  clear 
beauty  of  her  glance,  so  sweet  and  bright  that  his 


310  THE   BREAD-WINNERS, 

own  eyes  could  hardly  support  it ;  he  saw  the  ready 
smile  that  came  to  the  full,  delicate  mouth  whenever 
he  spoke ;  and  instead  of  being  made  happy  by  all 
this,  he  asked  himself  if  it  could  mean  anything  ex 
cept  that  she  was  sorry  for  him,  and  wanted  to  be 
very  polite  to  him,  as  she  could  be  nothing  more. 
His  heart  sank  within  him  at  the  thought ;  he  be 
came  silent  and  constrained ;  and  Alice  wondered 
whether  she  had  not  gone  too  far  in  her  resolute 
kindness.  "  Perhaps  he  has  changed  his  inind,"  she 
thought,  "  and  wishes  me  not  to  change  mine."  So 
these  two  people,  whose  hands  and  hearts  were  ach 
ing  to  come  together,  sat  in  the  same  drawing-room 
talking  of  commonplace  things,  wrhile  their  spirits 
grew  heavy  as  lead. 

Mrs.  Eelding  was  herself  conscious  of  a  certain 
constraint,  and  to  dispel  it  asked  Alice  to  sing,  and 
Farnham  adding  his  entreaties,  she  went  to  the 
piano,  and  said,  as  all  girls  say,  "  What  shall  I 
sing?" 

She  looked  toward  Farnham,  but  the  mother 
answered,  "  Sing  '  Douglas  ' " 

"  Oh,  no,  Mamma,  not  that." 

"  Why  not  ?  You  were  singing  it  last  night.  I 
like  it  better  than  any  other  of  your  songs." 

"  I  do  not  want  to  sing  it  to-night." 

Mrs.  Belding  persisted,  until  at  last  Alice  said, 
with  an  odd  expression  of  recklessness,  "  Oh,  very 
well,  if  you  must  have  it,  I  will  sing  it.  But  I  hate 
these  sentimental  songs,  that  say  so  much  and  mean 
nothing."  Striking  the  chords  nervously  she  sang, 
with  a  voice  at  first  tremulous  but  at  last  full  of 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  311 

strong  and  deep  feeling,  that  wail  of  hopeless  love 
and  sorrow : 

"  Could  you  come  back  to  me,  Douglas,  Douglas, 

In  the  old  likeness  that  I  knew, 
I  would  be  so  faithful,  so  loving,  Douglas, 
Douglas,  Douglas,  tender  and  true." 

There  had  been  tears  of  vexation  in  her  eyes 
when  her  mother  had  forced  her  to  sing  this  song 
of  all  others;  but  after  she  had  begun,  the  music 
took  her  own  heart  by  storm,  and  she  sang  as  she 
had  never  sung  before — no  longer  fearing,  but  hop 
ing  that  the  cry  of  her  heart  might  reach  her  lover 
and  tell  him  of  her  love.  Farnham  listened  in 
transport ;  he  had  never  until  now  heard  her  sing, 
and  her  beautiful  voice  seemed  to  him  to  complete 
the  circle  of  her  loveliness.  He  was  so  entranced 
by  the  full  rich  volume  of  her  voice,  and  by  the 
rapt  beauty  of  her  face  as  she  sang,  that  he  did  not 
at  first  think  of  the  words ;  but  the  significance  of 
them  seized  him  at  last,  and  the  thought  that  she 
was  singing  these  words  to  him  ran  like  fire  through 
his  veins.  For  a  moment  he  gave  himself  up  to  the 
delicious  consciousness  that  their  souls  were  floating 
together  upon  that  tide  of  melody.  As  the  song 
died  away  and  closed  with  a  few  muffled  chords,  he 
was  on  the  point  of  throwing  himself  at  her  feet, 
and  getting  the  prize  which  was  waiting  for  him. 
But  he  suddenly  bethought  himself  that  she  had 
sung  the  song  unwillingly  and  had  taken  care  to 
say  that  the  words  meant  nothing.  He  rose  and 
thanked  her  for  the  music,  complimented  her  sing? 
ing  warmly,  and  bidding  both  ladies  good  night, 
went  home,  thrilled  through  and  through  with  a 


312  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

deeper  emotion  than  he  had  yet  known,  but  pain 
fully  puzzled  and  perplexed. 

He  sat  for  a  long  time  in  his  library,  trying  to 
bring  some  order  into  his  thoughts.  He  could  not 
help  feeling  that  his  presence  was  an  embarrassment 
and  a  care  to  Alice  Belding.  It  was  evident  that 
she  had  a  great  friendship  and  regard  for  him, 
which  he  had  troubled  and  disturbed  by  his  ill- 
timed  declaration.  She  could  no  longer  be  easy  and 
natural  with  him;  he  ought  not  to  stay  to  be  an  an 
noyance  to  her.  It  was  also  clear  that  he  could  not 
be  himself  in  her  presence  ;  she  exercised  too  power 
ful  an  influence  upon  him  to  make  it  possible  that 
he  could  go  in  and  out  of  the  house  as  a  mere  friend 
of  the  family.  He  was  thus  driven  to  the  thought 
which  always  lay  so  near  to  the  surface  with  him, 
as  with  so  many  of  his  kind ;  he  would  exile  him 
self  for  a  year  or  two,  and  take  himself  out  of  her 
way.  The  thought  gave  him  no  content.  He  could 
not  escape  a  keen  pang  of  jealousy  when  he  thought 
of  leaving  her  in  her  beautiful  youth  to  the  society 
of  men  who  were  so  clearly  inferior  to  her. 

"  I  am  inferior  to  her  myself,"  he  thought  with 
genuine  humility ;  "  but  I  feel  sure  I  can  appreciate 
her  better  than  any  one  else  she  will  ever  be  likely 
to  meet." 

By  and  by  he  became  aware  that  something  was 
perplexing  him,  which  was  floating  somewhere  be 
low  the  surface  of  his  consciousness.  A  thousand 
thoughts,  more  or  less  puzzling,  had  arisen  and  been 
disposed  of  during  the  hour  that  had  elapsed  since 
he  left  Mrs.  Belding's.  But  still  he  began  to,  be 
sure  that  there  was  one  groping  for  recognition 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  313 

which  as  yet  he  had  not  recognized.  The  more  he 
dwelt  upon  it,  the  more  it  seemed  to  attach  itself  to 
the  song  Alice  had  sung,  but  he  could  not  give  it 
any  definiteness.  After  he  had  gone  to  bed,  this 
undefined  impression  of  something  significant  at 
taching  itself  to  the  song  besieged  him,  and  worried 
him  with  tantalizing  glimpses,  until  he  went  to 
sleep. 

But  Farnham  was  not  a  dreamer,  and  the  morning, 
if  it  brought  little  comfort,  brought  at  least  decision. 
He  made  up  his  mind  while  dressing  that  he  would 
sail  by  an  early  steamer  for  Japan.  He  sent  a  tele 
gram  to  San  Francisco,  as  soon  as  he  had  break 
fasted,  to  inquire  about  accommodations,  and  busied 
himself  during  the  day  with  arranging  odds  and 
ends  of  his  affairs.  Coming  and  going  was 'easy  to 
him,  as  he  rarely  speculated  and  never  touched  any 
thing  involving  anxious  risks.  But  in  the  after 
noon  an  irresistible  longing  impelled  him  to  the 
house  of  his  neighbor. 

"Why  should  I  not  allow  myself  this  indul 
gence  ?"  he  thought.  "  It  will  be  only  civil  to  go 
over  there  and  announce  my  departure.  As  all  is 
over,  I  may  at  least  take  this  last  delight  to  my  eyes 
and  heart.  And  I  want  to  hear  that  song  again." 

All  day  the  song  had  been  haunting  him,  not  on 
account  of  anything  in  itself,  but  because  it  vaguely 
reminded  him  of  something  else — something  of  in 
finite  importance,  if  he  could  only  grasp  it.  It 
hung  about  him  so  persistently,  this  vague  glimmer 
of  suggestion,  that  he  became  annoyed,  and  said  at 
last  to  himself,  "  It  is  time  for  me  to  be  changing 
my  climate,  if  a  ballad  can  play  like  that  on  my 


314  THE   BREAD-WINKERS. 

He  seized  his  hat  and  walked  rapidly  across  the 
lawn,  with  the  zest  of  air  and  motion  natural  to  a 
strong  man  in  convalescence.  The  pretty  maid 
servant  smiled  and  bowed  him  into  the  cool,  dim 
drawing-room,  where  Alice  was  seated  at  the  piano. 
She  rose  and  said  instinctively  to  the  servant,  "  Tell 
mamma  Captain  Farnham  is  here,"  and  immedi 
ately  repented  as  she  saw  his  brow  darken  a  little. 
He  sat  down  beside  her,  and  said : 

"  I  come  on  a  twofold  errand.  I  want  to  say 
good-by  to  you,  and  I  want  you  to  sing  '  Douglas ' 
for  me  once  more." 

"  Why,  where  are  you  going  ?"  she  said,  with  a 
look  of  surprise  and  alarm. 

"  To  Japan." 

"  But  not  at  once,  surely  ?" 

"  The  first  steamer  I  can  find." 

Alice  tried  to  smile,  but  the  attempt  was  a  little 
woful. 

"  It  will  be  a  delightful  journey,  I  am  sure,"  she 
faltered,  "  but  I  can't  get  used  to  the  idea  of  it,  all 
at  once.  It  is  the  end  of  the  world." 

"  I  want  to  get  there  before  the  end  comes.  At 
the  present  rate  of  progress  there  is  not  more  than 
a  year's  purchase  of  bric-a-brac  left  in  the  empire. 
I  must  hurry  over  and  get  my  share.  What  can  I 
do  for  you  2"  he  continued,  seeing  that  she  sat  silent, 
twisting  her  white  fingers  together.  "  Shall  I  not 
bring  you  the  loot  of  a  temple  or  two?  They  say 
the  priests  have  become  very  corruptible  since  our 
missionaries  got  there — the  false  religion  tumbling 
all  to  pieces  before  the  true." 

Still  she  made  no  answer,  and  the  fixed  smile  on 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  315 

her  face  looked  as  if  she  hardly  heard  what  he  was 
saying.  But  he  went  on  in  the  same  light,  banter 
ing  tone. 

"  Shall  I  bring  you  back  a  Jinrickishaw  ?" 

u  What  in  the  world  is  that — but,  no  matter  what 
it  is — tell  me,  are  you  really  going  so  soon  ?" 

If  Farnham  had  not  been  the  most  modest  of  men, 
the  tone  in  which  this  question  was  asked  would 
have  taught  him  that  he  need  not  exile  himself.  But 
he  answered  seriously : 

"  Yes,  I  am  really  going." 

"  But  why  ?"  The  question  came  from  unwilling 
lips,  but  it  would  have  its  way.  The  challenge  was 
more  than  Farnham  could  endure.  He  spoke  out 
with  quick  and  passionate  earnestness : 

"  Must  I  tell  you  then  ?  Do  you  not  know  ?  I 
am  going  because  you  send  me." 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  murmured,  with  flaming  cheeks 
and  downcast  eyes. 

"  I  am  going  because  I  love  you,  and  I  cannot 
bear  to  see  you  day  by  day,  and  know  that  you  are  not 
for  me.  You  are  too  young  and  too  good  to  under 
stand  what  I  feel.  If  I  were  a  saint  like  you,  per 
haps  I  might  rejoice  in  your  beauty  and  your  grace 
without  any  selfish  wish — but  I  cannot.  If  you  are 
not  to  be  mine,  I  cannot  enjoy  your  presence. 
Every  charm  you  have  is  an  added  injury,  if  I  am 
to  be  indifferent  to  you." 

Her  hands  flew  up  and  covered  her  eyes.  She 
was  so  happy  that  she  feared  he  would  see  it  and 
claim  her  too  soon  and  too  swiftly. 

He  mistook  the  gesture,  and  went  on  in  his  error. 

"  There  I     I  have  made  you  angry,  or  wounded 


816  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

you  again.  It  would  be  so  continually,  if  I  should 
stay.  I  should  be  giving  you  offence  every  hour  in 
the  day.  I  cannot  help  loving  you,  any  more  than 
I  can  help  breathing.  This  is  nothing  to  you  or 
worse  than  nothing,  but  it  is  all  my  life  to  me.  I 
do  not  know  how  it  will  end.  You  have  filled  every 
thought  of  my  mind,  every  vein  of  my  body.  I  am 
more  you  than  myself.  How  can  I  separate  myself 
from  you  ?" 

As  he  poured  out  these  words,  and  much  more, 
hot  as  a  flood  of  molten  metal,  Alice  slowly  recov 
ered  her  composure.  She  was  absolutely  and  tran 
quilly  happy — so  perfectly  at  rest  that  she  hardly 
cared  for  the  pain  her  lover  was  confessing.  She 
felt  she  could  compensate  him  for  everything,  and 
every  word  he  said  filled  her  with  a  delight  which 
she  could  not  bear  to  lose  by  replying.  She  sat 
listening  to  him  with  half -shut  eyes,  determined  not 
to  answer  until  he  had  made  an  end  of  speaking. 
But  she  said  to  herself,  with  a  tenderness  which 
made  her  heart  beat  more  than  her  lover's  words, 
"  How  surprised  he  will  be  when  I  tell  him  he  shall 
not  go." 

The  rustling  of  Mrs.  Belding's  ample  approach 
broke  in  upon  her  trance  and  Farnham's  litany.  He 
rose,  not  without  some  confusion,  to  greet  her,  and 
Alice,  with  bright  and  even  playful  eyes,  said, 
"  Mamma,  what  do  you  think  this  errant  young  cav 
alier  has  come  to  say  to  us  ?" 

Mrs.  Belding  looked  with  puzzled  inquiry  from 
one  to  the  other. 

"  Simply,"  continued  Alice,  "  that  he  is  off  for 


THE   BREAD-WINNERS.  317 

Japan  in  a  day  or  two,  and  he  wants  to  know  if  we 
have  any  commissions  for  him." 

"Nonsense!  Arthur,  I  won't  listen  to  it.  Come 
over  to  dinner  this  evening  and  tell  me  all  about  it. 
I've  got  an  appointment  this  very  minute  at  our 
Oriental  Gospel  rooms  and  cannot  wait  to  talk  to 
you  now.  But  this  evening,  you  must  tell  me  what 
it  all  means,  and  I  hope  you  will  have  changed  your 
mind  by  that  time." 

The  good  lady  did  not  even  sit  down,  but  rustled 
briskly  away.  Perhaps  she  divined  more  of  what 
was  toward  than  appeared — but  she  did  as  she  would 
have  wished  to  be  done  by,  when  she  was  young, 
and  left  the  young  people  to  their  own  devices. 

Farnham  turned  to  Alice,  who  was  still  standing, 
and  said,  "  Alice,  my  own  love,  can  you  not  give 
me  one  word  of  hope  to  carry  with  me  ?  I  cannot 
forget  you.  My  mind  cannot  change.  Perhaps 
yours  may,  when  the  ocean  is  between  us,  and  you 
have  time  to  reflect  on  what  I  have  said.  I  spoke 
too  soon  and  too  rashly.  But  I  will  make  amends 
for  that  by  long  silence.  Then  perhaps  you  will 
forgive  me — perhaps  you  will  recall  me.  I  will  obey 
your  call  from  the  end  of  the  world." 

He  held  out  his  hand  to  her.  She  gave  him  hers 
with  a  firm  warm  grasp.  He  might  have  taken 
courage  from  this,  but  her  composure  and  her  in 
scrutable  smile  daunted  him. 

"  You  are  not  going  yet,"  she  said.  "  You  have 
forgotten  what  you  came  for." 

"Yes — that  song.  I  must  hear  it  again.  You 
must  not  think  I  am  growing  daft,  but  that  song 
has  haunted  me  all  day  in  the  strangest  way.  There 


318  THE   BREAD-WINNERS. 

is  something  in  the  way  you  sing  it — the  words  and 
your  voice  together — that  recall  some  association  too 
faint  for  me  to  grasp.  I  can  neither  remember  what 
it  is,  nor  forget  it.  I  have  tried  to  get  it  out  of  my 
mind,  but  I  have  an  odd  impression  that  I  would 
better  cherish  it — that  it  is  important  to  me — that 
life  or  death  are  not  more  important.  There !  I 
have  confessed  all  my  weakness  to  you,  and  now  you 
will  say  that  I  need  a  few  weeks  of  salt  breeze." 

"  I  will  sing  you  the  song  first.  Perhaps  we  may 
pluck  out  its  mystery." 

She  preluded  a  moment  and  sang,  while  Farnham 
waited  with  a  strained  sense  of  expectancy,  as  if 
something  unspeakably  serious  was  impending.  She 
sang  with  far  more  force  and  feeling  than  the  night 
before.  Her  heart  was  full  of  her  happy  love,  as 
yet  unspoken,  and  her  fancy  was  pleased  with  the 
thought  that,  under  the  safe  cover  of  her  music,  she 
could  declare  her  love  without  restraint.  She  sang 
with  the  innocent  rapture  of  a  mavis  in  spring,  in 
notes  as  rich  and  ardent  as  her  own  maiden  dreams. 
Farnham  listened  with  a  pleasure  so  keen  that  it 
bordered  upon  pain.  When  she  came  to  the  line, 

"I  would  be  so  tender,  so  loving,  Douglas," 

he  started  and  leaned  forward  in  his  chair,  holding 
his  hands  to  his  temples,  and  cried, 

"  Can't  you  help  me  to  think  what  that  reminds 

me  off1 

Alice  rose  from  the  piano,  flushing  a  pink  as  sweet 
and  delicate  as  that  of  the  roses  in  her  belt.  She 
came  forward  a  few  paces  and  then  stopped,  bent 
slightly  toward  him,  with  folded  hands.  In  her 


THE   BREAD-WIKNERS.  319 

long,  white,  clinging  drapery,  with  her  gold  hair 
making  the  dim  room  bright,  with  her  red  lips  parted 
in  a  tender  bat  solemn  smile,  with  something  like  a 
halo  about  her  of  youth  and  purity  and  ardor,  she 
was  a  sight  so  beautiful  that  Arthur  Farnham  as  he 
gazed  up  at  her  felt  his  heart  grow  heavy  with  an 
aching  consciousness  of  her  perfection  that  seemed 
to  remove  her  forever  from  his  reach.  But  the 
thought  that  was  setting  her  pulses  to  beating  was  as 
sweetly  human  as  that  of  any  bride  since  Eve.  She 
was  saying  to  herself  in  the  instant  she  stood  motion 
less  before  him,  looking  like  a  pictured  angel,  "I 
know  now  what  he  means.  He  loves  me.  I  am 
sure  of  him.  I  have  a  right  to  give  myself  to  him." 

She  held  out  her  hands.  He  sprang  up  and  seized 
them. 

"  Come,"  she  said,  "  I  know  what  you  are  trying 
to  remember,  and  I  will  make  you  remember  it." 

He  was  not  greatly  surprised,  for  love  is  a  dream, 
and  dreams  have  their  own  probabilities.  She  led 
him  to  a  sofa  and  seated  him  beside  her.  She  put 
her  arms  around  his  neck  and  pressed  his  head  to  her 
beating  heart,  and  said  in  a  voice  as  soft  as  a  moth 
er's  to  an  ailing  child,  "  My  beloved,  if  you  will  live, 
I  will  be  so  good  to  you."  She  kissed  him  and  said 
gently, 

"  Now  do  you  remember  1" 

THE    END. 


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